The BS Life of Lemy Loud
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lemy Loud feels ignored and out of place in his family. Cover by Raganoxer. (REUPLOAD). Now in three parts, this is part one to be followed by The BS Life of Gwen and The BS Life of Everyone (tentative title).
1. Z is for Zenith

**I won't go into why I deleted my sin kids stories last December because it really doesn't matter. What matters is that I lost sight of something, that a lot of people liked those stories. I got a lot of messages regarding those stories and still get them to this day, and even though there are things (in this story in particular) that I've come to disavow, I do have kind of a soft spot for them. For better or worse, these stories are mine. No amount of deleting them will change that. For those reasons, I'm reuploading them. And this time, they'll stay. **

* * *

**Lyrics to Ballroom Blitz by Krokus (1984 - original by The Sweet, 1973)**

When you got nine sisters, man, sometimes you just need to get away, go for a walk or a bike ride or something. It wasn't so much the noise that bothered Lemy Loud, it was the constant Daddy, daddy, daddy bullshit. His sisters, from Loan right on down to Leia, had this weird fucking obsession with their father, like, man, the guy couldn't even come through the door without them mobbing him. Hi, Daddy; Welcome home, Daddy; Wanna wrestle, Daddy? Aw, man, it gave him such a case of the willies or something, watching them all cluster around him, pawing at his crotch, running their hands over his chest; planting delicate and not-so-daughterly kisses on his cheek; nibbling his ear; leading him by the hand upstairs and throwing seductive looks over their shoulders…

Where was he? Oh, yeah, that shit got old, so when feeding time at the zoo rolled around, he made himself scarce. And by that, he meant he left the fucking house entirely, because even in his room with loud music on he could sometimes hear them grunting and gasping and I'm cumming, Daddy, I'm cumming. It made him feel really strange, like...his chest was tight and his stomach was real heavy. If he listened to that shit too long, he started getting...I dunno, weird or something. It really pissed him off, though, the way they acted around him. And the way he acted with them. You think Dad ever wanted to hang with him? Nope. You gotta suck some dick if you wanna get his attention, and the last thing in the world Lemy was going to do was put his old man's cock in his mouth. Fuck that. Keep your precious little girls. Pervert.

Presently, Lemy was walking down Pine Street with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tattered jeans. It was a hot early August day, and her wore an olive drab sleeveless vest over a black T-shirt and a red bandanna tied around his forehead. Dog tags with some dead grunt's name on them hung from his neck; he picked them and the vest up at the army surplus store in town a few weeks ago: Five bucks for both. Can you believe that? They're practically giving this shit away. He was going back on Friday when Dad coughed up his allowance...there was this sick T-shirt that had a picture of Lee Harvy Oswald being shot on it, only some asshole gave Oswald a mic, Jack Ruby a guitar, and wrote LEE HARVEY OSWALD BAND 1963 WORLD TOUR on it. Hahahaha.

He stopped at an intersection and waited for the pedwalk sign to change from red to green. A squeal sounded off to his left, and he turned to see a group of girls about his age (maybe a little younger) coming up the sidewalk all horsing around and shit. His eyes were instantly drawn to their bare legs. It was summer, right, so they were wearng shorts and skirts and shit. He started feeling funny again, and stabbed the button insistently. Come on, come on, I got shit to do. They drew closer, and he got that dry-throat-tight-chest sensation that he sometimes had when his sisters were walkign around in the morning with their night shit on, you know, see through gowns and stuff.

He didn't like it.

The light change and he hurried across, cutting off a big blue Dodge. It honked its horn and he almost flipped it off, but didn't, because guys who drive massive trucks have little dicks or something and would have no problem kicking the shit out of a twelve-year-old. Lemy wasn't a bitch, but he wasn't dumb, either: He wouldn't stand a fucking chance against some good old boy all pissed off because he's packing two inches.

He wondered, not for the first time, how he stacked up to other guys his age. All his friends said they had ten or eleven inches, Lemy was lucky if he had six. Sometihing told him they were full of shit, but every time he'd seen one (when he caught Dad and one of his sisters watching porn together) it was fucking huge, man, like...he didn't know, bigger than him. Daddy had a good nine inches, Lemy knew that firsthand: He saw that fucking thing more than he saw his own: He'd be sitting on the couch with Lupa, then next thing you know she and Dad are going at it like fucking animals and he was just sitting there blushing and trying not to look..hating himself because he really kind of -

His right foot struck something and he started to lose his balance. Crying out, he hopped on his left and spun around, nearly falling. His temper flared and he started to kick whatever-the-hell-almost-killed-him, but stopped when he saw it. "Oh, shit," he grinned.

Here's what it was: A sweet vintage record player from, like, the seventies or something. It was sleek and gray with a crazy fuck ton of buttons, knobs, and levers, the turntable on top protected by a see through plastic lid.

Lemy loved shit like this: He had a couple old school radios at home he picked up at garage sales and stuff. His favorite was the Patrolman-9 he found at the thrift store in Elk Park where his Mom took him to shop for school clothes. It was chrome and portable and, man, it got everything: AM, FM, VHF, fucking SW. He could turn that bad boy on, kick back, and listen to cops, HAM radio operators, and truckers talking shit to each other. Hahahaha. Those dudes are dirty. Like really, seriously, truckers are crazy.

He dropped to one knee and examined his find. Check it: Not only was it an AM/FM radio and a record player, it also played 8-Tracks and cassette tapes. He looked for the manufacturer's name and found it across the front: Zenith, the Z stylizied like a lightning bolt. Zenith is the man when it comes to making badass stereo systems.

Was someone seriously throwing this out? It was sitting next to a trashcan at the end of a flagstone walk, so...yeah, had to be.

Pffft. Is the cord still attached? He checked it over. Yep, there it was. In that case, he could have this beauty up and running in no time...if it didn't already work. Oh, Dad's dead, let's toss out his perfectly good Zenith dur-de-dur.

Dumbasses.

He got up, threw a suspicious glance around, then snatched it up and hurried off at a crouch. See ya.

By the time he reached the house on Franklin Avenue twenty minutes later, his arms were quivering and sweat ran down his face in rivulets. Ten blocks ago this thing weighed five pounds, now it weighed five hundred and he could barely lift his feet off the ground. He wasn't about to let his sisters see that, though; they'd start in teasing his masculinity and shit, and there's nothing worse than girls making fun of your masculinity, especially when you kind of wanted to impress them.

At the door, he rested and caught his breath. "Man, you better be worth it," he told his new radio. The radio didn't reply. Good; there'd be a problem if it did.

When he was sure he didn't look too beaten up, he kicked the door and waited for someone to open it. He could hear the TV, so someone had to be in the living room: Leaving the TV on and going out of the room was a big fucking no-no here. So was leaving lights on. Power doesn't, like, grow on trees, Auntie Leni said. No, no it doesn't, good job for noticing.

He kicked the door again. "Hey!" he called.

Approaching footsteps sounded. His back was clenching and his legs were shaking. Can you be any slower?

The door opened, and Liena appeared, dressed in her favorite green overalls. She smiled warmly at him, then her eyes flicked to the stero in his arms and she frowned in confusion. "Uh...that's a big radio."

"Yeah," Lemy grunted, "it's heavy, too."

She nodded as understanding dawed on her. "Cool. Where'd you get it?"

Lemy shook his head slowly and flicked his eyes up toward the sky. "Internet," he said, "now can I come in?"

"Sure," she chirped and stepped aside.

"Thank you," he said shortly and struggled the stereo inside. Loan was sitting on the couch playing one of those RPG fucking shoot-em-up-what-the-fuck-ever video games she liked so much and Lizzy was watching in wonder as monsters and shit appeared on the screen. Lemy got a better grip on the stereo and started up the stairs, leaning heavily forward so he didn't topple back like that dude in Psycho. You know, the one who got stabbed in his face? Ah, you don't know what I'm talking about, but that's fine, no one ever does.

At the top, he paused for a moment and caught his breath again. Goddamn. This is the last time I pick a radio up off the sidewalk. In his room - a closet, can you believe that? - he dropped it onto his bed and sank wearily to his knees with a sigh of relief. Yeah, he wasn't gonna do that again.

Pushing himself up, he bent over and lifted the lid. Let's see what -

"Hey."

Lemy tensed slightly at the sound of his older sister's dull monotone; she caught him off guard. Didn't happen very often; he usually knew she was coming because the smell of stale cigarette smoke clung to her the way Leia clung to Daddy when she got home from school. You could smell this girl a mile away. Aw man, what's that? He called her Joe Camel sometimes, you know, after the Camel cigarettes mascot. She didn't like it, and one time she stuck out her foot and tripped him as he passed. It was all good, though: Guess who got a lighter that shocked the fuck out of them for their birthday.

"Hi," Lemy said shortly and glanced over his shoulder. She was leaning against the doorframe, her hands shoved into the oversized pockets of her black hoodie. Her white hair barely touched her shoulders, and her freckled face bore an early crop of pimples. She was thirteen, a year older than him, and had this fucking punk/goth/fucking he didn't know what thing going on. He teased her about it, but deep down he really liked her, ya know? Outside of Lyra, she was the only one of his sisters he felt like he had anything in common with. They liked a few of the same bands, some of the same music styles, and...oh, she liked horror movies. He did too. Some of them. The good ones, not those gay ass B-grade fucking I can see the monster's zipper and the strings holding up the bats ones that Lizy loved so much.

He also thought she was kind of...you know…

He was starting to feel funny again. Fuck.

"What's that?" she asked and nodded toward the stereo.

"That's my new Zenith," he said with a crooked grin, "I found it on the road." He laid his hand on the plastic lid and looked down at it with paternal pride. "Can you believe someone was gonna throw this out?" He chuckled and shook his head.

Lupa looked it up and down: It was covered in dust, the plastic covering the dial was cracked, and there were dents all across the face. "Yes."

Lemy's smile faded and his brow knitted. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

She considered for a minute "Yeah, actually. Dad's just - "

Lemy winced.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said and turned to the radio. "Go play with Daddy," he said and waved her off.

"Uh, play with Daddy?"

"Yeah, go on, wouldn't wanna miss any Daddy time."

Lupa's brow furrowed. "Whatever," she said and turned. Lemy watched her go, his eyes traveling down her back to her legs. She didn't walk like a girly-girl, but her butt still wiggled, and he felt even more weird than he already did. You know what'll solve that?

He went over and shut the door. There we go. All better. Now he could focus on what was really important: This radio. He picked it up and hefted it over to his desk. He pushed aside a confusion of papers, wires, and tools, and sat it down. He dropped into the chair, turned the lamp on, and pointed it at the stereo. Lupa wasn't wrong, this thing was kind of beat up. That added character, though. It wasn't some bland, shiny, right out the box piece of modern art or some shit, it was a stero that people actually used and enjoyed.

A long time ago, if the thick ass layer of dust was any indication. He ran his finger along the needle arm, and it came back fucking coated. Yeah, he thought and blotted it on his shirt, step numero uno is gonna be a bath. The tape heads are gonna have to be cleaned, the fucking...hold on. He reached into his top drawer, grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil, and jotted down a to do list. Next, he took out a Philips head screwdriver. With these things, you gotta take 'em apart to clean 'em. Of course. Duh, right?

He unfastened the screws holding the top in place, lifted it, and set it asidie. When he looked into the guts, he jerked.

There was something in there.

A foregin object, if you will.

Frowning, he reached in and held it up to the sunlight falling through the window. For a second he was completely lost...then it hit him. "Holy shit," he drew.

It was a Zip-Loc baggie.

A Zip-Loc baggie full of weed.

A sly grin crept across his face. "Oh wow."

Someone at some point in the past hid their stash in here and must have forgotten all about it. He didn't know much about weed (he smoked it twice at a friend's house), but he did know this: There was enough of that shit in there to feed a family of hippies for a month.

He tossed a nervous glance over his shoulder (sisters, right, they don't respect your fucking privacy, and at least one of them coughLeiacough would probably snitch). He was alone...for now. Setting the bag in his lap, he opened it, then leaned over and took a big whiff: Again, he wasn't an expert, but it smelled kiler to him.

He threw his head back and laughed. Oh, man, who said Lemy Loud didn't have good luck? He got a sweet stereo and a fat pound of grass all on the same day.

Yeah, he had great luck.

* * *

Or not.

It was dinner, the only time of day when the whole family was in the same room. Check it: Nine sisters, one old man, one moms, and nine aunts. That's twetny-one motherfuckers. You know what it takes to feed that many people? He didn't, and, brother, he didn't wanna find out; he hated the beans and franks and shit his old man made, but he could respect them, you know? When you're playing Gordon Ramsey for almost two dozen people every single nght you gotta make things stretch.

Anyway, like I said, dinner was the only time you could get everyone in the same room, so Lemy always felt a little lost in the crowd. How could you not? Lately, it was worse than normal, because he was really noticing how his sisters looked at Dad. Every fucking one of them stared at him with those bedroom eyes of theirs (except Lulu and Lizy, but give it a couple years). They laughed at his dumb fucking jokes, they jockeyed for his attention, they all talked over one another...and they watched him with those eyes. Man, that was the worst, because when he looked at them, he felt like a fucking piece of shit or something, you know? Why didn't they look at him that way?

I mean, hey, it's nice to be noticed by the opposite sex, right? To at least know Hey, there're chicks out there who think I'm halfway attractive, nice. He didn't get that: Pops did, and as he sat there watching them watching Dad, he couldn't pretend he didn't know what he was feeling. Jealousy, it was jealousy pure and simple.

Night wasn't a cakewalk either, but don't worry, we'll get there - we always fucking do.

But yeah, it made him jealous that Dad got all the attention. What, am I ugly or something? Do I not matter? Can't you at least compliment my fuckng shoes or something? Anything? Ha. Nope. There's none leftover because Daddy. Pfft. Just one...he wanted just one to look at him like she was hungry and he was on he menu. Man, if Leia turned her big blue eyes on him and bushed her teeth across her bottom lip like she did to Dad...man, oh, man, he didn't know, but he didn't want to think about it because it was making him feel funny...in ways he could explain, and in ways that he couldn't. It was like a...an ache, you know, in his chest. He ached for it.

Kind of fucking weird when you get right down to it, but whateve, his old man did his daughters left and right, it was normal at this point. Yeah, normal. Totally normal.

It made him feel like a bitch to articulate his feelings, though...even to himself. You know what, here: He was interested in girls, he was fucking surrounded by them, all long hair, cute smiles, and tight fucking bodies...and none of them would give him the time of day. Pathetic, I know, alright, whiny little bitch, but still it really fucking bothered him if he thought too much about because...man...he wanted a girl in his bed at night, he wanted to kiss Lyra or Liena or who the fuck ever, and not being able to do it but hearing his old man doing it...it drove him crazy. It really did. Made him feel all shaky and knotted.

Man, Leia was his favorite. He loved the way she wore her blonde hair in pigtails, and that little schoolgirl outfit? Holy shit. Liby was kind of the same. When he was alone at night he imagined putting his hands on her legs and slowly trailing them up, brushing the hem of her skirt out of the way, her flesh smooth and warm and…

He was starting to get hard.

Alright, enough, I'm fine, I'm over it, just...just yeah. He stabbed a frank with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and tried his damnedest not to oogle any of his sisters - they didn't want him anyway, they wanted Daddy. Instead, he found himself staring at Auntie Lucy's breasts. She wore this tight black sweater that hugged them beautifully. They weren't very big, but he didn't mind, he liked them small. Flat chest, A cups, B cups...Lacy was all upset once because her boobs weren't growing and he told her they were fine. You know, all casually. Inside? Hmmm. Fuck. He thought they were fucking perfect, man; he wanted to play with them so fucking bad it hurt: Rub her nipples with his thumbs, make her breathing quicken, her eyes hazy…

"Lemy?"

Lemy jumped. I wasn't looking at shit. His father watched him with lifted brows like he was a cop waiting for a criminal to spill the beans. "Anything interesting happen today?"

Yeah, I found a fuck ton of bud in this old radio. I'm thinking of smoking some later...and maybe selling some. "I found this awesome stereo on the sidewalk," he said out loud.

"Really?" Dad asked, his head tilting ever so slightly like he was genuinely interested. He wasn't, though; now if it had a pussy...

"Yeah," Lemy said, wanting the conversation over as quickly as possible, "it's really cool."

"Does it work?"

Come on, man, leave me alone. "The radio does but I gotta fix everything else." He scooped up a forkful of beans and shoved them into his mouth. Dad nodded appreciatively and tuned to Lyra. Lemy didn't hear what he said because he really didn't care to. When he was done, he took his plate to the sink, dropped it in, and went back upstairs. In his room, he closed the door, went over to the desk, and sat down. Oh, shit I forgot. Sighing, he got back up and went to the bathroom, which was surprisingly free: With twenty-one other people in the house, getting into the john was harder than getting at the president….which is why he usually went outside unless he had to shit.

He rummaged around under the sink, pushing aside boxes of tampons and bottles of shampoo until he found what he was looking for: A stack of washclothes tucked away in a corner. He grabbed one, stood, and wetted it in the sink, then wrang it out as best he could.

Okay, is that everything?

He flicked his eyes up and to the side and thought. Yeah, should be. In his room again, he sat at the desk and started to wipe down the stereo, but stopped. Actually, some music would be nice. Music makes everything better. Really drowns out those thoughts you didn't wanna have. Like thoughts about tomorrow's math test. Hahaha.

Reaching blindly into his top drawer, he took out a CD case, opened it, and dropped the disc into his radio, then hit play. Loud, riff heavy rock drifted from the speakers, and he sat back with a sigh.

_Oh it's been getting so hard_

_Livin' with the things you do to me, aha_

_Oh my dreams are getting so strange_

_I'd like to tell you everything I see_

He leaned forward, snatched up the cloth, and started to wipe down the outside of the stereo, his head nodding back and forth.

_Oh, I see a man at the back_

_As a matter of fact his eyes are red as the sun_

_And a girl in the corner let no one ignore her_

_'Cause she thinks she's the passionate one_

Anything interesting happen today, Lemy? Do anything cool, Lemy? Yeah, sure, Dad, I did a lot of cool things today, I'd tell you all about them but, see, something tells me you don't really care. Which is fine. I don't really give a fuck if you do or not; I don't hang off you and stick my ass in the air for your approval like your little , I get it, pussy is king. Tell you the truth, if I had them after me…

I'm reaching out for something

Touching nothing's all I ever do

Oh, I softly call you over

When you appear there's nothing left of you, aha

...but no, I get to sit here and watch your ass and…

...he was getting really fucking sick of thinking about this. He sounded like a whiney ass fuckboi even to himself. Boo-hoo, wah-wah, cry, bitch, cry. He threw the cloth on the table and sat heavily back. An idea struck him then, and he brightened. That's right, I got sunshine in a bag, what the fuck am I doing? He reached into the drawer, snatched his weed, and slapped it on the table. What am I gonna smoke this with?

_And the man at the back said_

_Everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz_

_And the girl in the corner said_

_Boy, I wanna warn ya, it'll turn into a ballroom blitz_

And what the fuck am I gonna light it with? Was that big ass gril lighter still in the pantry? He glanced over his shoulder as though he'd be able to tell without getting up.

Lupa has a lighter.

Yeah. And maybe she'd wanna smoke with him. Weed's always better with friends. He absolutely did not in any way, shape, or form think back to what one of his buddies said about weed making girls horny, and he did not feel a twinge in his chest like dread anticipation. Well...he did, but only because he didn't have a bong or whatever. Kinda hard to smoke pot without a bong.

He did have an empty soda can over there by a stack of mechanical manuals, though. He reached over, snatched it up, and pulled the tab off. He broke it, mashed the bottom, creating a little indent, then carefully poked six little holes into it in the shape of a pyramid. Next, he added a shotgun hole to the side, then brought it to his lips like he was going for a cold, refreshing drink, his thumb covering the shotgun. He gave it a test suck (Daddy, Daddy) and boom, we're off to the races.

Now to go get Lupa.

He got up and went out into the hall. At her door, he poked his head in and found her sitting on her bed with a notebook balanced on her knees and a pen in her hand. Her head was bowed and she worked with painstaking slowness. Everyone has their thing; Lupa's was drawing. She was good, too. Not great like 'oh my fucking god open a DeviantArt account' but give it a couple years. Practice makes blah blah blah.

"Hey," he said, and she looked up. His eyes darted to her thin lips and then to her soft brown eyes, tracing the curve of her jaw as they went. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. "Uh...you wanna...come here for a minute?" he asked and rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, this wasn't one of his better ideas. "I-I need some help. Bring your lighter."

Lupa's brow lowered so slightly you wouldn't notice it if you didn't know her. "What do you need help with?"

Lyra passed behind him and playfully bopped him on the top of the head. He shot his arm out but only grazed her arm. "It involves, uh, you know…"

She watched him expectantly.

"Just come on."

With a "Whatever" she sat her notebook aside, got up, and allowed Lemy to lead her into his room.

He sat at the desk and turned the radio off, killing Krokus in the middle of Midnight Maniac. "Shut the door," he said, and she obliged, then leaned against it and crossed her arms.

"What's this about?" she asked.

He held the baggie up, and her eyes widened. "It's about tokin' up, that's what it's about." He opened it and reached inside, taking a bud between his thumb and forefinger.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked. Her tone wasn't so flat now.

"Found it in my Zenith," he said. "It's not so lame now, is it?" He zipped the bag, shoved it into the drawer, and closed it. He laid can on its side, dropped the bud on, and shifted to the edge of the bed. "Lighter?" he asked and held out his hand.

Lupa watched him for a moment, her expression inscrutable, then came forward and took her lighter from her hoodie. "I'm actually impressed," she said and sat next to him.

He plucked the lighter from her hand and held the can up to his lips. What was that supposed to mean? Actually impressed? Like he wasn't...being fucking sensitive. Shit. You got a tamp too, sis? My fucking vagina really needs it. Out loud: "Sometimes I rise to the occasion." He pressed the can to his mouth, flicked the wheel, and held the flame to the bud. The smoke rolled harshly into his lungs, and he started to choke. Goddamn. He held the can and lighter out to Lupa while he struggled to keep from hacking his lungs up; she took them, raised the can to her lips, and sparked the lighter. She inhaled, held the smoke for a moment, then let it out in a cough.

They did this three times before the bud was reduced to ash: Lemy was warm and tingly and couldn't feel his face. He laughed like a fucking dumbass. Lupa joined him, snickering at first then outright giggling. The sound of her laughter was really beautiful, and his heart started to race; suddenly he was hyper aware of her closeness, her leg ghosting against his, her right hand resting on her knee, so near and, uh, holdable, the warm, clean scent of her hair underneath the aroma of pot and cigarette smoke.

"Why are we laughing?" she asked.

"I don't fucking know," he snorted. "It's good shit, huh?"

She nodded deeply then laughed. "My face is numb."

Funny, so was his. Did she feel like kissing him the way he felt like kissing her? Did she feel the same desperate, clawing, hormonal need?

Probably not because she got laid on the reg. He didn't. She got released, meanwhile his pressure built and built and built and then he got to listen as his old man his sisters went at it, got to fucking watch. Yeah, maybe he was a jealous little bitch, but put yourself in his shoes; if you're not just a little bitter, you're either lying or gay.

What was it about Dad anyway? He wasn't this sexy fucking Casanova, he was a normal dude...a normal dude just like Lemy. Why did they all love Dad but not him? Why'd they kiss and touch Dad but not him? What was wrong with him?

He didn't know, but he was starting to feel like he was gonna melt or something. He sat the can on the desk and handed Lupa back her lighter; her fingers brushed his hand, and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes locked with hers, then went to her lips; they glistened in the overhead light.

"You're baked," she said.

What would her lips taste like? Candy? He knew they wouldn't, but there's only one way to find out, right? He started to lean in just as Lupa's phone buzzed. She whipped her head away in a sweet-smelling swish, her hair raking across his face. She pulled out her phone and swiped her thumb across the screen. "That's Dad. I gotta go." She got to her feet and Lemy watched her go with the strongest combination of lust and disappointment he'd ever felt in his life. "Thanks for the smoke."

Then she was gone.

Lemy sat back against the walls and drew his knees up, his face screwing up in a sour expression. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

I hope your dick falls off.

Yeah, even being the only cock in the house he probably still wouldn't get any.

Fuck it. They can have their precious Daddy; I'm done being a cryboi. He got up, planning to finish cleaning the stereo, but swayed and nearly toppled over.

Nevermind, he thought and sat back down, that shit can wait. He stretched out and laced his hands over his chest; he wasn't going to sleep (come on, it was only seven), but he needed to rest and let, you know, the weed...kind of...wear off…a little or...like...

Snore.


	2. A Relaxing Day at the River

_**Lyrics to Lit Up by Buckcherry (1999)**_

Everything has an upside. The upside to falling asleep at seven o'clock in the evening like a ninety year old woman was being up and rested before 5am. Lemy liked mornings; they were clean and peaceful, and, hey, look, no lines. With twenty-some other people hanging around, you were shit of luck if you wanted a hot shower: No matter if you took one in the morning or the evening, there were always a dozen other people with the same idea, and unless you had the energy to fight through the pack like Mr. Krabs through the army of the living dead, you were getting cold ass water. Hurry up, I gotta pee! Lemy, I need to put my face on; Lemy, I gotta take a fat dump. That was Lacy. See, being the resident jock or whatever, she ate like a fucking bird. You know? Picking here, picking there, protein, granola gotta watch my calories. That was great...until she splurged and had a piece of pizza or a greasy hamburger: Ten minutes after the last bite hit her gut, she was rushing to the can with her hands clamped against her butt. Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go. You remember that commercial? No, you probably don't; I swear to fuck sometimes I'm all alone over here.

Suffice it to say, shower time was usually a bitch and Lemy fucking dreaded it. Today, however, he took the longest, fucking hottest one ever, and get this: No one bothered him...no one knocked on the door, no one really had to pee, no one so much as knew he was awake.

Then again, that's par for the course even when they were standing right in front of him.

That doesn't matter, though, what did matter was that he was able to shampoo and condition. He never had time for this shit, so being able to go at his leisure really lifted his mood. Now if only he could get rid of this fucking morning wood; best part of puberty is waking up hard for no reason at all. Gee, that nightmare about the man eating zombie vampires from outer space was scary as fuck, boi-oi-oi-oi-oioooooong. They didn't have shit on the ones that happened when he was awake, though. And when he said 'happened' he meant they just fucking happened, no logic, no cause, just hey, there's a suspicious bulge in my pants, huh. Kinda like that song "I Jizzed in my Pants." He never went quite that far, but, buddy, a few times he came close.

Oh, and God forbid his sisters saw his stiffy. A couple times he made the mistake of stumbling out of his room half-asleep with his dick pushing out the front of his boxers, and it was either Ew, Lemy, gross, or twenty minutes of micopenis jokes. The one Leia made about it not growing because it's always in the shade really fucking hurt because it was true, it was always in the shade...and because, you know, he didn't want her think he was small. He wanted her to think he was big and hot and…

Moving on.

Washing your ass crack without having to rush is great, huh? And the water...man, he could stay in here all day.

Speaking of water, maybe he'd walk down to the river later and go for a swim. That was always fun: They had this big fucking concrete thing from where a railroad bridge used to be, and the water was deep enough that you could jump off and not shatter every bone in your body. Unless there was a drought like last year - in that case you'd fuck your life all up. Geranimooooofuck! Splat! Just like a bug on the windshield. He saw a kid do that once: He jumped off the monkey bars thinking he was hot shit and snapped his leg almost clean off. You should have heard him scream, man; made Lacy screaming when Dad…

Huh, there's a crack in that tile. Wonder how that happened. Did someone punch it? He could see Aunt Lynn doing that. In fact, the vision was clear as day: She's standing here, water and soap suds sluicing down her toned body…

Goddamn it. He needed to jack off or something.

Uh, yeah, no. He didn't like jacking off. It made him feel...kinda like a loser, you know? There goes Lemy playing with his pee-pee again because no one else wants to touch it, how pitiful. Now fuck me harder, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

Man, you need to chill. All angsty and shit. You sound like a bitch.

He really did.

Fine. I'm done. No more thinking about that shit; think about the river. Perfect place to sit down with your busted up soda can and smoke some green...unless there are a bunch of people around, which there probably would be. He'd bring his stuff anyway just in case.

When he was done, he cut the spray, jumped out, and wrapped a towel around himself. You know, despite his little cryfest back there, he felt damn good; long hot shower, no one busting his balls...if he could do this every day he wouldn't care as much about...well, ya know...Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy didn't mean shit right now; Lemy was feeling alright and ready to start his day. I should smoke that shit more often, he thought as he went out into the darkened hall, steam puffing out around him. In his room, he pulled on a pair of jeans and sat at the desk. The stereo he yoinked from the trash yesterday stood ready for his ministrations, its guts laid bare for him to see. Kinda like a woman with her legs spread.

He sighed. Here we go again. He bent over and tried to lose himself in the mechanizations of the Zenith, but his mind kept drifting - to Lupa and the aroma of her hair; to Leia and the way her skirt brushed her long, slender legs; to the way you could see the dark patches of Liby's nipples through her thin nightgown; to -

The screwdriver slipped and stabbed him in the hand.

"Y'OW, SHIT!" he cried and yanked his arm away. Son of a bitch! He flashed and threw the fucking piece of shit against the wall so hard the plastic handle cracked and came apart. He glanced at the wound: It was a deep scrape that faintly seeped blood. No biggie, but it stung like a motherfucker.

That's what you get for letting your mind wander while using tools, dumbass. Be glad it wasn't a table saw or you'd really be hurting. On this episode of Paul Timberman's Workshop, I cut my dick off with a Sawzall. Not that I need it anyway.

Okay, dickmunch, that's enough,

Lucky for him, he had an extra screwdriver he swiped from Aunt Lana the last time she roped him into helping her with one of her lameass home improvement projects. She was always doing that. She called him Al after the fat guy from Tool Time - Al was this dude Tim's little sidekick, and whenever Lana wanted his help she'd call, Hey, Al, c'mere! When he heard that shit, he dipped: One time he even jumped out his window. Well, it was more a fall since he was trying to climb down but...tomato, tahmoto, right?

Alright. Focus with your ADD ass.

Focusing, he delved back into the world of wires, transistor tubes, and little moving parts you'd lose if you weren't careful. Say what you want about old school stuff, but, man, they built shit to last. None of this oh, it dropped two inches onto a feather pillow, now it's busted and I need a new one crap. He liked working on older radios because you didn't have to treat them like Faberge eggs.

He was bent over and elbows deep in the Zenith's guts when a knock sounded and made him jump. Seriously? It's…

That's when he noticed the golden early morning sunshine streaming through the window. Huh. Guess I was in the zone. "Yeah?"

The door opened. "Breakfast is ready," Lyra said.

"Alright, thanks."

Instead of withdrawing and going away, she came over and rested her hand on his shoulder; the soft sensation of her touch on his bare flesh sent a shiver down his spine and made his stomach reel. "What's this?" she asked.

"R-Radio," he said.

Lyra snickered. "Yeah, I kinda figured that. This the one you found?"

Lemy nodded. His throat was really dry. "Yeah, I, uh, I found it."

Nodding slowly, Lyra squeezed his shoulder. "Pretty sweet." She let go and turned away; Lemy let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and the spot she touched tingled. He tried to brush it off, but, yeah, that didn't work.

No biggie. He wasn't some fucking pervert who got all hot and bothered because Bro, that girl touched me fapfapfap. She was his sister, after all, and sisters touch their brothers. Normal thing, no need to get a raging erection over it.

Pushing away from the desk, he got up and started out into the hall, but stopped, grabbed a black T-shirt out of the dirty clothes hamper, and slipped it on: AC/DC was emblazoned across the front in white. Downstairs, he found his sisters clustered at the dining room table; Mom, Dad, and most of his aunts were at work, so it was only Lori and Luan...both of whom weren't in evidence, actually. As he passed the table, Lacy laughed. "You know why Leia's missing her front teeth?"

Oh, shit, a roast session. He loved these..when he wasn't the target. "Because Dad knocked them out with his dick?" he asked.

Everyone laughed except for Leia and Loan: Leia's face flushed an angry red and Loan glowered down at her cereal like it owed her money. Lemy might be kind of an angsty bitch, but Loan was a full-blown ball of anxiety: Her blonde hair was matted and stuck out, dark bags hung under her eyes, and her complexion was sallow and pallid. She didn't go outside much because she had that phobia...ya know...about wide open spaces. And get this: She also had the opposite one...fear of small spaces. Hahahahaha. As fucked up as he was, she was even worse. Except she got to cu -

"That is not why I'm missing my front teeth," Leia said indignantly. "It's just a gap."

"I'll say," Lacy said, "I could throw a football though it."

Leia's face was beet red now, her soft blue eyes sparkling with rage. She was always cute, but when she was mad? Ummm!

Shoving that thought aside, he went into the kitchen, where he grabbed a plate from the cabinet over the sink and went to the island where a line of plates stood in repose. Let's see what we got: Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, potato hash...goddamn, breakfasts like this happen once in a lifetime. Usually it was cereal because we can't afford. Alright, Lemy got it, twenty fucking people, bills out the ass, shit load of kids...still though, out of eleven adults, nine worked full time jobs - Lisa at a pharmaceutical company, for god sake. You're telling me that with all that we can't afford to have eggs every once in a while? Pfft.

He heaped his plate, carried it into the dining room, and grabbed the open seat next to Lacy. She loaded a piece of egg onto a spoon and aimed it at Leia, who was pointedly looking down at her food and not at her older sister. "Le', open your mouth."

"Don't call me Le'," Leia said tightly.

Lacy rolled her eyes. "Open your mouth...Leia."

Instead, Leia held up her middle finger, and Lacy laughed.

"You know, Lace," Lyra said and jabbed a bit of egg with her fork, "you shouldn't be talking about someone's teeth."

Lemy snorted and Lacy shot him a dirty look. It was true, her grill was busted too: She had this upside down V from getting tackled in a football game. He actually thought it was kind of cute, but she was sensitive about it sometimes, so he made fun of it when she really pissed him off. Come to think of it, didn't he hear her with Dad the other night, panting and moaning like she was giving birth? Didn't it keep him up until three in the morning? Go ahead, say something, I dare you.

She did. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, snaggletooth, don't worry about it."

A chorus of oohs rose from their sisters as Lacy's face flushed with anger. Oh, did I strike a nerve? "Why don't you go crawl back into your closet?" she asked.

In the Loud family, roasts happen. If you were peeking through the window watching...one, what the fuck's wrong with you...and two, you might think everyone hated each other and did it out of spite or some shit. That wasn't the case. This is just how they rolled...say the most awful stuff about each other one minute and be cool the next. Maybe it's weird, but hey, they were a weird family.

Lemy knew this, but still, that wounded him. Crawl back into your closet like the dirty little secret no one likes...no one wants. "Aren't you late for a meeting of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee?"

"Aren't you late for a meeting of the virgin losers club?"

Everyone fucking lost it, even Loan: Leia snickered mean-spiritedly, her eyes full of malice and her shoulders shaking; Lyra pounded the table with her fist; Liby giggled into her hands; and Lacy tilted her head with a cocky smirk that said I win.

Lemy's face felt flush. "No," he said weakly, and everyone laughed even harder...cruel...mocking...fucking hateful. It was true, though; he was a virgin loser, and everybody knew it.

His rage boiled over. "Fuck you bitches." he snarled and got up so fast his chair tipped back. Lacy looked up at him with that smug little Mona Lisa smile, and it was all he could do to keep from knocking her out. He turned and stalked out, his face hot and his hands balled into fists; their taunting laughter followed him like a bad smell.

Stupid fucking bitches, they'd all be virgins too if Dad wasn't a fucking pervert who liked having sex with his daughters. Gross, man, really? Who does that? Your sisters are one thing (your soft, warm, fragrant sisters…) but your kids? Jesus, dude, you gotta be some kind of fucking sicko or something.

He pounded up the stairs and went into his room, flinging the door closed behind him. Fuck those assholes, buncha cheap skanks anyway no matter how beautiful they were. Sitting at his desk, he leaned back and chewed his bottom lip, anger bubbling in his chest like boiling water. Dah-da-dah virgin losers' club hehehehehehehe. At least I don't fuck someone who looks just like me. Really, out of all the kids, Lacy looked the most like Dad. Same shape face, same eyes, same nose, same mouth, holy shit, are you his daughter or his fucking clone? Lemy might be a pervert whose shoulder tingled because a girl touched it, but even he wasn't so far gone that he'd get on top of his fucking doppelganger and ride it like a bucking bronco. Sheesh. Gag me with a spoon and fuck with me a fork.

When he did Lacy, did it count as incest...or was it masturbation? Lemy snickered. Seriously, though. Guy had to be some kind of egotist or something. Looks just like me...boioioioioioioioioinnngggg,

Still, though, if Lacy gave him the chance…

His face crinkled. Yeah, she looked a little too much like Dad.

But why was he getting hard?

Oh, God, now I'm gay.

Perfect. Just when you think you're life can't get any more difficult, you get sprung for a girl that looks just like your old man. He could see himself looking at her full in the face as he came...could he do the same to Dad?

You know what? He didn't wanna know. What time is it? He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 9:45. It was a little early for the river, maybe he'd tinker with the Zenith a little more, then run into town and pick up a new needle for the arm.

Sitting forward, he started working on it again, but tensed when someone knocked on the door. Oh, lovely, Comedy Inc delivers now. I'll have the virgin joke special with a side of pointing and laughing, please, and don't forget the fuck off, closet boy. Wouldn't be a meal without that. He threw his head back and sighed. "What?" he asked sharply.

The knob turned and the hinges creaked. "Hey, man," Lyra said, "you alright?"

You okay? Yeah, well hold onto your shorts, buddy, cuz you're about to not be. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, "just leave me alone."

Instead of obeying, she came over and sat a plate in front of him: It was his from the dining room. "I'm sorry we ran you outta town," she said, a genuine edge of remorse or something in her voice. "That virgin joke was good, though." She snickered.

Lemy sucked his bottom lip in and wondered if he could take Lyra in a fight. She had five years and two feet on him, but once he wrestled her to the ground and mounted her…

"Yeah, real funny."

She gently slapped his arm. "Come on, man, we're just playing with you. Why are you so weird lately?"

Why am I so weird? I don't know., maybe it's because every time I'm around one of you my heart starts to race and I can't breathe, then I start getting like..like I really like you and stuff..then I watch that white haired faggot come through the door and you all come running. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, fuck me; no, fuck me. Seeing you kissing him and touching him makes me sick to my stomach.

Or maybe it's because I'm on the rag. Yeah, let's go with that.

This whole time he sat there chewing his bottom lip and shaking his head, his eyes hazy and far away. Lyra frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey," she said, her voice soft with concern. She reached out, and Lemy jumped when her fingers grazed his arm. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head like a man coming awake from a stupor. "Nothing," he said, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Lyra's frown deepened. His tone was strained, like he was hurting, and Lyra didn't like it when her little bro was hurting. She teased him sometimes, but she loved him fiercely; hell, if she didn't do you think she'd bust his balls? Hell no. You only do that to someone you love...someone you're comfortable with. The others felt the same way.

But maybe they took it a little too far this time. Again. "Lemy, look, if you need to talk…"

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

He stared straight ahead, his face hard.

Sighing, Lyra got up. "Alright." At the door, she glanced over her shoulder, worry written across her face, then went out into the hall, pulling it closed behind her. Yeah, they took it too far. Usually he was okay with jokes, but everyone has their limit, she guessed. She started toward her room just as Lupa appeared at the head of the stairs and favored her with raised brows; a cigarette jutted from his thin lips, bluish smoke curling from its glowing tip. "I always figured you'd be the one to pop his cherry," she said around the filter.

Lyra didn't hear her. "I'm really worried about Lemy," she said, "I think that virgin thing really hurt his feelings."

Lupa regarded her with a blank stare. "Why?" As far as she knew, being a virgin was just another thing, not great, not terrible, just...there.

"I dunno," Lyra admitted heavily, "I think for a boy being a virgin's like a bad thing."

"Oh," Lupa said and clamped the cigarette between her fore and middle finger. She took it away from her lips and blew. "I guess. He'll get over it."

Lyra rolled her eyes and brushed past. "Whatever."

Lupa took a drag from her cigarette and watched her sister go, her face flat and expressionless. She didn't mean to sound callous, if that's how Lyra took it. She loved Lemy, he was a good dude, still, you can't run around butthurt all the time. You gotta be tough. Not 'fear me, I'll kick your ass' tough, but strong, because people are gonna say hurtful shit in life - she knew that first hand: They called her Fish Face in elementary school. All six fucking years of it. She used to come home in tears and look at herself in the mirror...I do look like a fish. Somewhere around fifth grade, though, she stopped giving a fuck because giving a fuck is a lot of work.

Lemy would find that out. He wasn't dumb. And when he did, he'd either wind up like Loan, who was crippled by other people's opinions, or he'd wind up like he...totally and completely liberated. She was hoping for the latter.

She glanced at his door, and the corners of her mouth twitched down. There was a part of her that wanted to go to him, but you can't always have your sisters there, bud, you gotta spread your wings. She took a drag and went into her room.

In the backyard, Lacy dropped a soccer ball onto the ground, drew back her foot, and kicked it as hard as she could, her lips pulling back from her teeth in an ugly sneer: It sailed through the air and crashed into the stockade fence with a loud crack. She was panting, her fists balled at her side. She was mad: Mad that Lemy called her snaggletooth, mad because he was right, she really didn't have room to talk, and mad because it was making her mad. It shouldn't be bothering her this way; only little pansies let things get under their skin, and she was not a pansy.

Even so…

She took a deep breath. It wasn't worth ruining her day over. She went after the ball, stooped down, and picked it up.

"Lacy!"

Lacy turned to the back porch: Liena stood with her arms crossed and Leia next to her; the little girl's hands were on her hips and she smirked. Lacy sighed: Leia was a goddamn little snitch, especially when you ticked her off.

"How many times have I told you, like, to not do that?" Liena demanded.

A lot, Lacy admitted to herself, but kicking the ball against the fence is really therapeutic. "Sorry," she said.

"Don't do it again," Liena said, then turned and went back inside. Leia tilted forward and rolled her neck as if to say there, take that. Lacy flipped her off. "Tattletale."

A devious grin spread across Leia's face. "Oh, Liena." She drew their sister's name tauntingly out: Lieeeeeennnnnaaaa. A frustrated growl rumbled in the back of Lacy's throat, and she stalked off. Maybe she'd go to the park; there was a stone wall running between it and the forest, and no one yelled at you if you kicked a ball against it.

And pretended it was your brother's dumb head.

* * *

Lemy nodded to the music as he carefully removed a busted transistor tube from the stereo. It took a long fucking time, but his mind was now focused entirely on the task at hand and nothing else.

_I'm on a plane with cocaine,_

_And yes I'm all lit up again_

_Cough up love and touch up_

_Your mama said packing lines is sin._

His fingers moved with the deftness of a surgeon; he'd done this a thousand times in the past, and his self-assurance was evident in his quick movements. He sat the tube aside and picked the new one up between his thumb and forefinger.

_And yes I'm all lit up again,_

_On the couch, in my bed_

_And yes I'm all lit up again, flyin'_

_I love the cocaine, I love the cocaine_

The bad news was that two of the tubes were fucked beyond all repair and he only had one on hand. The good news was that he found more online and they were currently being shipped from Muncie, Indiana or some shit; by the end of the week, this bad boy would be up and running like brand new. He grinned to himself. Nothing makes you feel quite as good as fixing something that's broken. Destroying shit made some guys feel better when they were upset, but not him; creating (or improving) shit...now that's where it's at. It was a surrogate, you know? Can't fix this so you fix that. His mind turned to the night before, how he leaned in to kiss Lupa and she totally blew him off...didn't even notice. You know how much that shit hurt? Bad, real bad...bad enough that he was honestly scared of trying it again even though he really wanted to go for it. Like...he wanted one of them but he didn't want the possibility of being rejected again Rejection hurts, man, it does.

_I'm on a train and ride on,_

_You know the train is staying off the track_

_I'm in touch love, from this crutch_

_Well you're on ten but buddy I'm on eleven_

He reached for the can of Coke standing by the lamp like Jeeves in one of those old movies and took a long drink. This is as close as he was coming to cocaine. You know what they say, man, it's a hell of a drug. Lemy was all for having a good time, but he couldn't say he liked the idea of his fucking septum being chewed away, nosebleeds and shit, pieces of your brain falling out...

Nah that didn't happen, but still, he'd stick with grass.

_Well crack the door for the curious girl_

_'Cause she's been waiting, she's been waiting_

_Chop a line for the fiending man_

_'Cause he wants one_

_You know, you know you got to, can you feel it, can you feel it tonight?_

_Are you high, love?_

_Tell me are you fucking high?_

Not yet, Lemy thought as he clicked the tube in place, later maybe.

Done, he sat back and looked over his work with an appreciative nod. Alright, that's it, can't do anything else until those tubes come in. He glanced at the clock: 12:38. Dad got home at four and Lemy didn't wanna be around, so he wanted to hold off on going to the river: If he left nowish, he'd have four hours to kill, plus an hour or two after to give Dad and his sisters time to finish their little fucking lovefest. Lemy liked the river, man, but not enough to dick off there for six goddamn hours.

Then again, he had a little extra cash, so he could always swing by the arcade and then have lunch at the pizza place on Main.

Yeah. Make a whole day of it. Why not? Summer doesn't last forever; smoke it while you got it, right?

Getting up, he went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and rummaged around until he found a pair of black shorts. He stripped out of his pants and underwear, pulled them on, then brought out an olive green T-shirt. He knelt next to the bed, reached under, and found his backpack, shoved under and forgotten on the last day of school. He threw the weed in first, then a towel, then the soda can/pipe, then stopped and tossed his head back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. What else? Extra shorts so he'd have something dry to change into? Nah, it was hot enough that he could drip dry.

Bandanna. He needed a bandanna.

Here's a little secret: He didn't wear those fucking things to look cool - for the most part - he wore them to keep the sweat out of his eyes. People perspire differently, you know, and with him, it all came out of his forehead. Lacy...she sweated from her upper lip or something, big, fat fucking beads standing out under her nose...she was hot and all, but, man, it was gross.

Taking a blue bandanna from his sock drawer, he tied it around his head and nodded. Done and done, let's go. He slung the bag over his shoulder and went into the hall. His foot was just touching the top step when Lyra called his name. Deep down, he was kind of hoping to slip outta here without seeing any of his sisters.

Ignore her, Lemy; keep trucking like the Doo-Dah-Man.

But he didn't. He paused and turned his head like the soft little bitch he was. Lyra was walking over from the direction of the john, and his eyes instantly went to her bare midriff: She liked wearing little shirts that didn't fully cover her, and he liked to look...sometimes, and sometimes it was like Hey, man, you're starving to death? Get a load of this sandwich. Looks good, huh? Wanna watch me eat it? She was wearing a belly button ring and Lemy unconsciously licked his chops. "Hey," she said and swatted his arm, "what'cha up to?"

His heart was racing and his throat was tight. He felt like that old man in that book by Nabokov. Anyone? No one? "Uh, I'm, uh, I'm goin' to the river."

Lyra's face lit up. "Oh, cool; room for one more?"

Lemy's heart stopped. "No!"

Her face dropped. "Oh," she said woundedly, and Lemy instantly felt bad. You know, it wasn't her fault he was...whatever the hell he was. She was a cool chick and she'd never been anything but a good sister.

Still, man...he was trying to get away from this shit. The last thing he wanted was to have her up in his face.

She looked really disappointed, though.

"I mean yeah," Lemy heaved, "I got room for one more."

A smile broke across her luscious, pink, kissable lips. "Alright. Lemme get my stuff." She turned away, and the soft fragrance of her hair tantalized his senses.

I made a big mistake, he thought as he trudged down the stairs, his shoulders slumped and his dick stirring. Oh, God, I should have told her to get lost. Why didn't I tell her to get lost? Guess I'm a nice guy. You know they say about them.

Maybe his subconscious was trying to cheer him up, but he suddenly remembered a line from a movie he saw...or maybe it was a TV show. Two people were talking or something, and one of them says Big feet...you know what they say about that. The other person says, Yeah...big socks. get it, right? Big feet mean you have a big dick and...nevermind

In the living room, he dropped onto the couch with a sigh. Loan was playing one of those dumb games again, her brow knitted in concentration. Lemy watched the screen: Aliens, first person POV, some gay ass gun that shot lightning or some shit. Pffft. Geek.

He had to admit, though, the graphics were really good. Like watching a movie.

Ten minutes later, Lyra came down the stairs with a purple beach bag over her shoulder like a giant purse. Lemy glanced over his shoulder...and froze fucking solid.

There's this cheesy ass nineties movie where this chick's coming down the stairs and she's gorgeous. That song's playing. I don't wanna wait...for our lives to be over. Yeah, that's pretty much what happened here. Lyra was dressed in a tight white T-shirt that bared her stomach and clung tightly to the mounds of her ample breasts. Her cut off Daisy Dukes covered just enough to be legal: Her legs were long, toned, and silky smooth. He imagined the way they might feel under his hands and shivered so violently he almost toppled over.

She turned her big brown eyes to him and smiled glowingly. "Hey, you ready?"

Jesus fuck, yes.

He tried to speak, but his airway was closed for the season, so he simply nodded.

"Alright," Lyra grinned and nodded to the door, "let's go."

Lemy watched as she went to it, his heart sputtering when he got a load of her back side. Son of a shit, I can see the bottoms of her butt cheeks.

He swallowed hard.

"Close your mouth," Loan said without turning, "you're gonna catch a fly."

Yeah. Heh. A fly.

Lemy stood on shaky knees and followed his older sister out into the burning August day, his eyes glued to her butt, to the band of warm flesh above, to the dimples at the base of her spine. He was starting to get hard. "It's hot out here," she commented as they turned left onto the sidewalk.

"Yeah," Lemy coughed. He was barely ten steps out the door and already he was flushed and panting. And not from the day. "So hot."

"How's the stereo coming?" she asked.

Lemy nodded and stole a quick look at her legs: She wore sandals and her toes were painted purple. He wasn't a foot guy, but he'd stick… "G-Good. I just gotta...you know...wait for a part." He stared down at his feet. Hey, look, a cigarette butt, cool. Whaaaat? Is that a bottle top? Sweet.

Lyra hummed. "What kind of part?"

"Transistor tube."

"Ah."

Just keep looking away, just keep looking away, don't...goddamn it, he looked at her, his eyes going from her breasts to her cheek. Her long brown hair spilled over her shoulders, and a wayward strand caressed her boob. God, he wished that was his hand. He wished so fucking bad it ached - his hands literally ached. He curled and uncurled his fingers, but that didn't help: His fingers weren't Lyra's soft, girlish skin. Man, he could practically feel her nipple scraping across his palm as he fondled her. She'd throw her head back and gasp Oh, Lemy, and he rub himself against her...tilt his head forward...kiss her delicate throat.

He didn't realize he was gasping for breath until Lyra nudged his ribs with her elbow. "You alright, man?"

His head bobbed up and down. "Yeah, never better, I'm great, I'm great." He uttered a nervous titter. See?

She cocked her head and scrunched her brow in a cute expression of confusion. Light danced in her eyes, and a furnace blast breeze rustled her silken hair. A smile fluttered at the corners of her mouth, and Lemy had never wanted to kiss a girl so bad in his life, not even Lupa last night. He imagined running his fingers through her hair and pressing himself into the hollow between her hips...tasting her sweet breath as their lips inched closer together...their tongues touching gently then dancing together, her heart pounding crazily against his own, her freckled cheeks blushing hotly because she was so, so, so fucking into it…

"I see you gathering wool or something, man; earth to Lemy."

"It's the heat," he said quickly. The heat you're causing me, baby.

Jesus, what if he said that out loud? It was so weak, cheesy, and dumb he'd never live it down. Instead of doing that, he glanced hurriedly away and found something else to look at.

But the universe was not on Lemy's side that day: She snaked her arm around his shoulders and drew him close; her breast brushed the top of his head and a big, sweet, mouthwatering whiff of her smell shot up his nose.. "It's all that weed you been smoking."

Lemy's primal lust turned to primal horror like that. "I don't smoke weed."

Lyra blew a raspberry. "Yes you do," she drew playfully. "I smelled it."

Goddamn it. Burning one in his room wasn't one of his better ideas.

"It's alright," she said, "I smoke too."

She did? When a girl you like likes something, you know what you do? You fucking give it to her. "I have some in my bag," he said, "we can blaze up...if you want." He lifted his arm to slip it around her waist, but wasn't brave enough to go through with it. She might get awkward and think he was a fucking creep or something. Only Daddy can do that, Lemy, he heard her saying. Uh-uh. He didn't feel like being punched in the heart right now.

"Maybe," she said noncommittally. "When we get home. Being stoned and in the heat is bogus. Trust me."

Lemy took a deep breath though his nose. He was getting so turned on he could barely walk. Lemy Jr. was twitching and trying to stand up, so he thought of the most unsexy shit he could imagine: A naked, five-hundred pound woman in a Hoveround, her saggy breasts spilling over her distended gut like two deflated balloons. She looked kind of like Honey Boo Boo's mom. Come here, Lemy, she said huskily and beckoned with her finger - her nail was yellow, unclipped, and dirty.

Uh, no thanks, I'm not that hard up.

Actually, if he closed his eyes and put his thing in her mo -

Aw, man, you're nasty.

They were on River Road now: Dense pine forest flanked one side while houses marched along the other, windchimes and American flags stirring in the summer air. Up ahead, the forest broke and a path led down to the water. After waiting for a tractor trailer to pass, they hurried across and started down the trail. Sunlight filtered through the treetops and dabbled the ground in coins of brilliance.

The trees soon fell away, and the river came into view, its lazy surface specked with light. On the far bank, a thin layer of trees screened a rush of lumpy pastureland where cows grazed and horses ran free. A couple of teenagers splashed in the water - Lemy saw a girl in a bikini, and looked away.

The ground was grassy halfway to the bank, then it turned bare and dirt. Lyra stopped on the very edge of the grass. "This looks good," she said and unshouldered her bag. Lemy dropped his own as she bent and began to rummage. The bottom of her shirt rode up, exposing more of her fleshy hips, and Lemy glanced up at the sun. Please, burn my fucking eyes out...I'm begging you. "You can go in if you want," Lyra said, "I'm gonna hang up here for a while and catch some sun."

"Me too," Lemy blurted, then wondered why. Was he a masochist? Hit me, baby, break my nose. Ummm. So hot.

"Cool," she said and pulled a towel out of the bag, "I could use the company."

Company. Heh. Yeah. My idea of 'company' is a whooooollllle lot different than yours, sis; it involves us naked on our sides French kissing and touching each other's junk. You know, the stuff you do with Daddy

Now his lust was tinged with bitterness. Goddamn it. This was supposed to be a relaxing trip to the river not a fucking torture session. He put his hands on his hips and drew a heavy breath. Lyra spread the towel onto the ground, then slipped her T-shirt off...slowly. Lemy's jaw dropped as it moved up her taut stomach, her full breasts, then finally her head. For a blissful second he thought she was going topless, but no such luck, though her bikini top, dark blue with white polka dots and pink trim, was really nice too.

She tossed the shirt away and sat on the towel. Lemy simply stood there, unable to move. ""Sit down," she said and patted the spot next to her.

Lemy swallowed and crossed over, dropping next to her in a nervous heap. "You gonna take your shirt off too?" she asked.

He mindlessly started to peel it off, but stopped. He'd been bare chested in front of Lyra a million times before, but suddenly he was so self-conscious he blushed. He glanced at her: Her gaze was steady, unwavering, her brows lifted in expectation. If he didn't take it off, she might think something was up, so he sucked it up and pulled it off like ripping a Band-Aid from a wound. "There," she said through a smile, "comfy?"

Lemy nodded even though he was not comfy. At all. He was tense, nauseous, fluttery, burning with fever, and shaking. If that's what you call comfy, then yeah, he was downright cozy.

"Good," she said and stretched out. Lemy watched her from the corner of his eye: Her brown hair pooled around her head, her breasts flattened against her chest, her sunkissed flesh sheened with perspiration, and her belly button ring glinted like a lascivious wink. He licked his lips and tried real hard not to think about running his hands over her quivering stomach...or pushing her top up over her breasts. "I am too."

You are too what? She said something a minute ago, didn't she? He didn't know, his mind was dazzled. She turned her head, her watery eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. He bet that's what they looked like when she came, too. "Why don't you lay down?"

Yeah, sure, good idea. He scooted down and stretched up, drawing his knees up because he was hard as a rock. "Alright," she said and wiggled her hips, "this what I'm talkin' about. Catchin' some rays with my favorite bro." She grinned and nudged his arm with her elbow. "Nice and relaxed, hangin' out, nothin' to do but chill...together."

Lemy flashed a nervous smile. "Yeah, relaxing."

That was a lie; this was anything but. Man, I shoulda told her no. What was I thinking? Oh, poor Lyra, she looks upset, let me invite her along. Duuurrrr.

Smart, Lemy, real smart, and you wonder why this fand - I mean family doesn't like you. Dad was smart and hot and all that good shirt, and here's Lemy, matted ass long hair, big stupid circle face, leering smile. Yeah, no wonder his sisters didn't want him...or any other girl for that matter; he'd be a virgin until the day he died.

Wow, now I'm really depressed.

He glanced over at Lyra, his eyes tracing the swell of her hips, the gentle mound above her waistband, down to her fleshy thighs.

Alright, no more, chill.

Right.

He turned away and started into the dusty blue sky, shoving aside all thought until his head was as empty as Auntie Leni's.

They lay that way for a long time before Lyra sat up, drawing Lemy's attention. She reached into her bag and brought out a bottle of sunscreen. "I'm starting to burn," she said and squirted some of the cream into her palm.

"Yeah, uh, it's really sunny," he said and glanced at his chest. He, too, was starting to turn red. Good. He'd have something else to focus on for the next few days instead of...yeah.

Lyra smeared the lotion on one arm and then then other, rubbing it slowly into her skin. Lemy couldn't help but watch as she massaged it into her stomach and legs, too; his dick, hitherto flaccid, started to harden again. Sit the fuck down, asshole.

"Lemy?"

Lemy's gaze jerked to Lyra's face; she was pouting cutely, her bottom lip stuck out. "I can't reach my back. Can you help me?"

W-W-W-What? Like...touch you?

Oh, hell no; you just being here is teasing me enough, I am not rubbing lotion on your hot, sweaty, beautiful, boner-inducing body. No way, no how.

"S-Sure," he heard himself say. Sure? What the fuck is wrong with you? Dumb son of a bitch! You are a fucking masochist.

"Great," Lyra said and smiled prettily. She got to her knees and turned. With one hand, she moved her hair to one side and revealed her back. Lemy's throat closed and his stomach knotted. "You'll need this." She held the bottle out.

Lemy took it with trembling fingers and looked down at it. Alright, dipshit, let's get this over with as quickly as squirted a measure of the lotion into his palm, and couldn't help associating it with something else squirting. He licked his dry lips and rubbed his palms crisply together. Lyra watched him over her shoulder, her face screened behind her hair. She was smirking...as if she knew how much this was affecting him. Bothered and hot, Lem?

She wouldn't tease him like that, though.

Would she?

He held his hands up and pushed forward until they hovered bare miliinches from her skin...so close he could feel her body heat like the soft caress of a lover. He was shaking and so hard that his head pressed painfully against the seam of his shorts.

"Go on," Lyra giggled, "I don't bite."

Lemy tentatively laid his hands on her, his breath catching when his slick palms slid across her flesh. It was so much softer than it looked...so much warmer…

"Ummm, like that."

This is bullshit, this is bullshit, this is bullshit. The word repeated again and again like a mantra in his mind. One of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen in his life was kneeling in front of him and asking him to touch her...intimately (this wasn't just a handshake), and he was...ahhhh.

He slowly moved his hands over her back, his fingers kneading her flesh, the heels of his palm massaging her rippling shoulder blades. She had a mole on her shoulder and Lemy swallowed as he fantasized ghosting his lips across it, the salty taste of her skin filling his mouth and her hair brushing his cheek. She moaned and his penis responded with a primal twitch. I hear it, but I don't see it, where is it? Ring-ring, nature calling, pick up the phone and sink your dick into her s-l-o-w-l-y.

"That feels really good," she purred and leaned back, her body pressing against his and her hair swishing across his face. It smelled clean and fruity and his lips were so close to the side of her throat that all he he to do was pucker them, just fucking pucker them…

"I-I-G-Good," he stammered, his breath puffing against her skin. He saw goosebumps form.

She tilted her head back; her chin rested on her shoulder now.

And how he shook.

Kiss her...do it...put your lips on her neck and…

Oh, hell no. The last time he tried to kiss a girl she blew him off. Do you know much that hurt? It was like being stabbed in the heart...and the guts...and the dick…

His fingers hooked accidentally into the strap of her top and his heart leapt into his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Lyra laughed. "No, it's okay; that's a good idea, actually."

Huh? What was?

She replied by reaching her hands up behind her and undoing the clasp; the strings fell free like a girl letting her hair down at the end of the day. She splayed one hand across her chest to keep it from coming off entirely.

Her back was entirely naked now.

Twitch. Twitch. Let me at it...let at it…

"There," she said with a sultry hilt, "easier access"

Lemy's face screwed up as though he was about to cry; he didn't (he wasn't that big of a bitch), but man, if he didn't feel like it.

Kiss her...snake your hands around, slip them under her bra, and rub her nipples.

Aw, Jesus, he was leaking: His shorts were damp and his dick was coated with cum already and she hadn't even touched it. That wasn't normal; he'd probably cum the minute she laid eyes on it...and then she'd laugh at him. Freak! Minute man!

Not that she would touch it. She'd most likely jump up with a squeal of horror and an Ew, gross, what the fuck, Lemy? He can take being blown off (kinda) but actual disgust? He tried to imagine the expression on Lyra's face when oh, that little freak kissed me. Only Dad can do that. Her soft, angelic features twisted in rage and her eyes filled with revulsion…looking at him like he was slime.

No. He couldn't take that. Call him a bitch if you want, but...it wouldn't hurt him, it would kill him.

Lyra threw her head back into the crook of his neck and his lips grazed the side of her face. "Oh, Lemy."

He was this close to trying anyway.

Instead, he jumped to his feet and turned hurriedly away so that she wouldn't see his hard-on. "Lemy?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I, uh, I gotta go swim, See ya."

He was already walking away, already missing the closeness of her body, already wincing at the aching fullness of his perpetually unspent load. Nervous pangs tore through his stomach, and while he didn't cry, man, he came close.

Very, very close.


	3. Mystery Girl, LTD

**Guest: I may change it or I may leave the last four chapters off entirely. I haven't decided yet.**

* * *

_**Lyrics to Dragula by Rob Zombie (1998)**_

Life is filled with things that you gotta do whether you want to or not. Like, uh, taxes. For Lemy, it was polishing the one-eyed gopher. You know...shaking hands with Ben Franklin, stroking the sausage, blowing his load into a tube sock like a virgin loser.

Mastubation. I mean masturbation. Lemy didn't like whacking his willy because it made him feel like a freak who couldn't get a girl, but you know what: It made him feel like a freak who couldn't get a girl while not being an angsty-ass, whiney-ass bitch, and after the past two chapters - I mean days - it's nice to get a break from crybaby Lemy.

He did it as he always did: Totally naked (save for a banana...sweat, you know) and in complete darkness. That proved problematic sometimes; once he came into a wadded up pair of boxers, but the load went through one of the leg holes and he didn't notice until Leia came in a few minutes later and squealed in disgust. He was working on a radio at his desk; he glanced over, and to his unending horror there it was the top of the cover, a big white glob of jizz. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, her hands fisted to her chest like she was afraid of it reaching out and biting her.

"Yeah, I blew my nose," he said evenly, "musta missed the tissue."

She was all cringing and shit like she hadn't drank cum before. Ew, it's not Daddy's, it's Lemy's, it's toxic and gross. "That is not snot," she said and pointed.

Leia being Leia, she went and told everyone, and they roasted his ass so hard he couldn't sit right for a week.

Anyway, when Lemy woke up the day after his trip to the river, he felt good: Clear head, empty sack, minimum angst. I should really do this shit more often, he thought as he rolled out of bed. He went over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans, and yanked them on. Next, he padded over to the closet and selected a drab green utility shirt, you know, the kind they used to wear in the army: Button up, name over the breast. He cuffed the sleeves and left it unbuttoned, then went into the hall. Huge ass line for the can, of course. It went like this, in order: Aunt Lynn, Aunt Luan, Lyra (hey, baby), Leia, Lizy, Lupa, Liena, Lacy, John Boy, Mary Ellen (I'm kidding, those are characters from The Waltons), and finally, last but not least, Liby, dressed in a white nightgown that stopped weeellll above her knees. Lemy appreciated the form her her bare legs as he fell in behind her, then went on with his life; remember, all of his agnst was currently drying on a tube sock under his bed. It'd build up again before the day was out, but for right now, he was good.

Speaking of good, he hoped they had eggs and shit again. A fried egg would be really fucking good, but that was probably out of the question: With so many people, it was scrambled or nothing, since scrambled is easier to make or something. Oh! Oh! An omelette. Yes. Light and fluffy with peppers and onions and maybe some olives. Fucking right.

His stomach growled.

There was an IHOP on Route 29. Like...three miles out. His bike was busted, but three miles isn't that far to walk for a killer breakfast. Plus, another upside, the chances of being roasted as he ate were zero (unless his waitress was a dick). Gimme one omelette and hold the jokes.

Yeah, let's do that.

And why the hell am I waiting in line? I have a dick, I can piss in the yard.

Brain fart, I guess. He turned to go, but Liby stopped him. "Hey, Lem?"

Lemy froze. Aw, shit. "What?" he asked casually, as if he wasn't trying to get the hell out of here and go to IHOP. Liby faced him now, her hands clasped behind her back and her long, reddish brown hair was flopped casually over one shoulder. She twisted left and right like she was trying to be cute or something, and in Lemy's experience, that meant she wanted something.

"I...kind of need your help today," she said.

And there it is.

"With what?"

"I'll tell you in a bit," she said, "you weren't planning on doing anything, were you?"

"Yeah, actually, I was -"

"Good," she chirruped and turned.

Lemy put his hands on his hips and bowed his head. See this? Not only did his sisters disrespect his privacy, they disrespected his time, his wishes, his everything. Come on. He should say fuck it and go to IHOP anyway, but the thing is...he loved his sisters, even if they could be a pack of bitches sometimes, and when you love someone, you help 'em out, right? They helped him out with shit. Last laundry day, in fact, Liby took it upon herself to come into his room and grab his dirty clothes hamper because 'I knew you'd forget.' Then, get this, she folded all of his stuff and left it neatly on his bed.

Sigh.

Maybe he'd get that omelette tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at his desk when someone rapped lightly at the door. Ah, the braceface sister cometh. Liby had that set up that, you know, made her head look like Saturn, big metal ring around it. Honestly, she was the only person outside of a Katy Perry video he'd ever seen with one of those. "Yeah?"

The door opened and Liby slipped in, shutting it behind her and leaning against. She held a manilla envelope in her hand and wore what Lemy called her Angus Young outfit: Orange (ish) skirt with a black tic-tac-toe pattern, a sleeveless white blouse with a tie, baggy socks pulled up her calves, and a yellow hairband. Her blouse was tucked into her skirt save for a little tail on one side. He started to point it out, but she cut him off: "I need a huge favor."

"What?"

"Well," she started, her eyes flicking to the ceiling, "I have a case I'm working, and I was supposed to do recon today, but something else came up."

Liby's thing was mysteries and always had been; she watched those gay ass noir movies (How ya doin', shweetie?), read Agatha Christie, and even ran her own homebrew private investigating firm called Mystery Girl, LTD (it was called Mystery Inc until Hanna-Barbera sent her ass a cease and desist letter).

From the sounds of it, she wanted him to do her legwork...again. Fuck that. The last time he helped her, she gave him a case file on some restaurant owner and had him watch this dude all day on a Saturday...only to find out that, whoops, that was the file from her last case. Heh, guess you wasted your time. Sorry.

Lemy shook his head. "Not happening."

"Please?" she begged. "It's really important that this recon work gets done today. It might even be the break I'm looking for. I'd put off my other thing, but I can't."

"What is your other thing?"

"Tax work."

Lemy blinked. "Tax work?" he asked incredulously, then threw up his hand. "It's fucking August."

"I'm being audited, Lemy," she said and leaned forward. Her tone said you should know this, dumbass.

Drawing a heavy sigh, Lemy sat heavily back n his chair. "What is it? What do I have to do?"

Liby came over and slipped a sheet of paper out of the envelope. He took it and stared down at it. It was a picture of some hunky jock type with blonde hair and a big, toothy smile. He wore one of those lame ass letterman jackets (like jocks do). "That's Billy Shears, the captain of the Royal Woods Raptors. He's seventeen, in twelfth grade...and he likes to two time his dame."

Lemy lifted his brow.

"Sorry. His girlfriend Meagan hired me because she thinks he's cheating on her. I haven't been able to prove it, but I know he is. I need you to follow him." Here she held up a finger. "And if you see anything, take pictures."

Alright, so she wanted him to spend his day following some loser football player all over God's green earth because his little girlfriend thought he was holding some other bitch's hand? Okay, he could see hiring a P.I. if you think your spouse is cheating, but your high school boyfriend? How fucking petty. "Sorry, sis, I love you, but I'm not breaking my back over some teenage bullshit drama."

Liby sighed. "I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this."

What?

She slipped another piece of paper from the envelope and held it out. Lemy's eyes went from it to her face, then back again as he snatched it away. I swear to God, I'm so sick of people blackmailing m -

His entire body locked up when he saw what it was.

A picture. Green and blurry, like a vision seen through night vision goggles.

A picture of him stretched out on his bed, a tube sock on his dick and his eyes narrowed. His hand was wrapped around his member and his teeth brushed his bottom llp.

"Like the good detective I am," Liby explain, "I have cameras all throughout the house. I have dirt on everyone." She giggled evilly.

Lemy ripped the photo down the center, then across, balled it up, and tossed it over his shoulder. "Hehehehe," he mocked.

Smirking, Liby reached into the envelope and brought out a whole fucking stack of copies. "I have more," she said.

Goddamn it. Lemy sighed and hung his head.

"Help me out or on the first day of school everyone's getting one, and you'll be a laughing stock."

Twelve...he was twelve. They wouldn't charge him as an adult if he committed first degree murder, right? As far as he knew, they kept kids until they were eighteen or twenty-one, then sealed their records and let them go. If he choked this bitch out, he'd be a free man in nine years...nine short years. "You wouldn't really do that, would you?" he asked and looked up at her.

She nodded. "I'm desperate," she said soberly.

"Fine," Lemy said and threw back his head, "I'll do it. I can't promise I can keep up with this guy, though. My bike's busted."

Liby waved her hand. "Take the company car."

Five minutes later, Lemy stood next to Liby in the garage, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. A pink backpack sat at her feet. "That's the company car?" he asked and gestured to the bike with his chin. It was pink with tassels and a white wicker basket. The license plate had a big red heart on it.

"Yep," Liby said, "I'd call it The Mystery Machine, but those bastards at Hanna-Barbera might sue." She balled her fist in a show of impotent rage.

Lemy sighed. "Man, I can't ride this. Look at it. People already think I'm a fag or something, if I ride this they'll never leave me alone."

Shrugging, Liby turned away. "Alright, sock dick. Bye."

Nine years, that's all...nine years. "Fine. I'll ride the goddamn pink nightmare. Happy?"

"Yep," she tossed over her shoulder, "thanks, Lem. You're a great brother. Oh, and don't forget your bag."

Lemy's eyes went to the backpack; as if he wouldn't look gay enough already. "What's in it?"

"Spy stuff," she said with an excited hilt.

Makes sense.

With a sigh, he shrugged it on. You're a great brother, thanks for letting me blackmail you. He climbed onto the bike and sat astride for a moment, his fingers drumming on the handles and his head bowed. Would it really be that big a deal if everyone saw that picture? I mean, jacking off is perfectly normal, right?

Maybe when you're a card carrying Virgin Loser.

He pushed off and started to pedal.

Heh. V card.

He laughed. See? He could make fun of himself. I mean, come on, he wasn't that bad. He was alright looking, his personality was good, and he wasn't a braindead idiot. With that combination, a guy's bound to get laid at least once in his life. He thought back to the day before, his hands running slickly over Lyra's naked back, her warm hair tickling his face, her smell filling his nose; his heart pounded and his stomach clutched. Damn, he wished something happened. Not even much, he'd settle for a handjob just as long as he could look into her eyes as he…

NO! No goddamn angst today. Today is about doing Liby's bullshit legwork so she doesn't hand out pictures of me pounding off to every Dick, Tom, Jane, and Harry in town. Oh, I'm desperate. Yeah? And that makes this okay? Here I was thinking Gee, Liby's alright then POW! Like a fucking shot in the dark. I can be kind of a douchebag myself, but this is beyond the pale, like some mafia shit or something. I thought P.I.'s were supposed to be crime fighters or something, not extorting dickheads.

Guess I was wrong.

Wouldn't be the first time.

Presently, he came to a stop at an intersection. While he waited for the light to change, he pulled the picture of Billy Shears out of his pocket and studied it: Below, Liby had his daily routine written out to the minute. She might be an extorting dickhead, but he had to admit, she was good.

Let's see here, it is...ten-fifteen. Billy would be be at football practice, tossing the ol pigskin around and gearing up for a hot, steamy post game shower with the boys. Nice game, Johnson *butt slap* Thanks, Shears *dick tug* Way to throw that forward pass, Michaels *gay sex* Really, people make fun of drama students and AV geeks for being gay, but having your ass up in another man's face then touching his butt is the shower is totally straight. Alright, yeah, makes sense.

If he was gay, he'd be on the team in a fuckng heartbeat. Heeeeey, throw me the balls - I mean ball.

"Nice bike, fag."

Lemy looked up from the paper as a group of high school girls passed by, all long legs, big titties, and soft, silky hair. "On your way to your boyfriend's?" a blond asked, then mimed sucking a dick, you know, fist to her mouth, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. Her little buddies laughed cruelly and Lemy blushed.

When the light changed, he pedeed out of there as fast as he could before any more cute girls saw him.

Don't get him wrong, he wasn't a sexist, but goddamn, sexy women are the most evil motherfuckers. Come to think of it, sexy guys, too. Is it because they're good looking? Like...do they get it in their heads that they're better than everyone else because everyone goes gaga over them? Or maybe it's the sexy gene that makes them evil, kind of like a side effect. He heard it said that God made up for making retards retards by giving them retard strength, maybe he made up for making people ugly by sparing them the dickhead gland.

Whatever, he had bigger fish to fry...like this Shears asshole. Why was that name so familiar? He heard it in his head like a song lyric. Billll-eeee Sheeeeearrrrrrrssss. Damn, that was going to bother him now; it was on the tip of his tongue, too, dancing a mocking ass watusi. Just outta reach, bitch, can't get me, bitch.

Ten minutes later, he reached the high school and parked across the street from the athletic field: A bunch of homos in helmets, tight pants, and shoulder pads chased either other around while a flock of girls practicially jilled off on the bleachers. Go, Bobby! Yay, Jimmy! Nngh~, Stevie! Look at these guys. If you really wanna impress me, take off all that protective gear then play a game. See how big and bad you really are.

He set the kickstand with his foot and unshouldered the backpack, then set it in his lap and opened it. Let's see what kind of spy stuff Liby has for me: One forty-five caliber automatic; two boxes of ammunition; four days' concentrated emergency rations; one drug issue containing antibiotics, morphine, vitamin pills, pep pills, sleeping pills, tranquilizer pills; one miniature combination Russian phrase book and Bible; one hundred dollars in rubles; one hundred dollars in gold; nine packs of chewing gum; one issue of prophylactics; three lipsticks; three pair of nylon stockings. Shoot, a fella could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff.

No, none of that shit was in there. It was a reference to Dr. Strangelove. It's a movie about...nevermind. The things that were in there: A Nikon camera (oh, nice), a pair of binoculars, a ski mask, a lockpick kit, a blackjack...goddamn, this girl means business. He took the binoculars out, lifted them to his eyes, and scanned the field: A dude jumped up and snatched the ball out of then air, then got tackled. Alright, which one of you big, lumbering assholes is Billy Shears? His number was...let me check…

He lowered the binoculars just as a big Caddy pulled up beside him and came to a stop. Now I'm going to be abducted and molested. Right on.

The driver side window buzzed down and a little old woman, ninety-five if she was a day, stuck her head out; her wrinkled face puckered in the most sour expression he'd ever seen. "That's a girl's bike," she spat.

Nice catch, grandma. Out loud: "I know, ma'am."

She looked from the bike to his face and trembled with rage...or maybe it was Parkinson's. "Fruit." With that, she slammed on the gas and sped off in a squeal of tires. Lemy gaped after her. Why is everyone in this town a fucking homophobe? Goddamn, if I wanna ride a pink bike, fucking let me ride a pink bike, shit. He could forgive her (she was so old she probably thought black people still liked being called Negro), but everyone else? I mean, come on, it's…

I'm getting off track here. What was I doing before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh, right, checking this guy's number. He yoinked the photo out of his hip pocket and unfolded it. Tracing his finger down column of Liby's flowery purple handwriting (am I weird or is the way she writes hot?), he found it. Aha. Number 1. Because of course he was. It was his hat, Mr. Krabs, he was number one! He raised the binoculars and spotted Mr. Tall, blonde, and handsome literally in the middle of smacking another man's ass. He was helmetless and his hair shimmered in the light of the sun, a beam of which caught on his pearly white teeth and shot a goddamn death ray into Lemy's eyes. Wow. He is sexy. Wonder if he's into younger guys?

Joking, joking.

I'm not really gay.

Or am I? *handflap*

Anyway, Lemy watched this asshole for so long that he learned all the rules of football, developed a taste for it, got really passionate, then moved onto something else. And allll the while people were passing by on the sidewalk talking shit. "Look at that fag watching dudes through binoculars. What a queer!" "Hey, kid, see anything you like?" At one point a girl a couple year older than him came up and stood next to him. "My favorite's Brian. He's really hot. Who's your favorite?"

He started to tell her to drop dead twice, but stopped himself at the last second. Brian, huh? You some kind of football groupie?

If she was, maybe she had some information he could use. "Billy," he said, then added, "uh, yeah, he's...he's hot." He glanced over. The girl was tall and slender with long, wavy blonde hair, a pert nose, sparkling blue eyes, and soft lips glazed with pink gloss. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes crept down her delicate throat. She wore a pink dress with a wide belt around her midsection. What the fuck? Did I die and go to 1983?

She turned to him and flashed a friendly smile. "Yeah, he is."

Huh? Oh, yeah, Joe Namath over there. Focus, Lemy. "Uh...do you know if, uh...he's...single?"

The girl tilted her head and touched her finger to her chin, her eyes rolling up to one side in thought. "Uhhh, I don't think he's into guys."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Yep. Her name's, like, Michelle or Meagan or something."

Alright. That matched what Liby had on the paper here: Meagan. "Do you know him well?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I know he's, like, really into being a Christian, though. He's a Mo...a Mowman, I think?"

"A Mormon?" Lemy asked.

"Yep."

Huh. Interesting. You wouldn't expect a member of the God Squad to be two timing his dame, but then again, Mormons...polygamy...remember that reality show? The one with the douchebag who looked like Keith Urban, and he was married to, like, five women? They were called sister-wives. For some reason that term always made him cringe. He used to wonder what it would be like to be in a Mormon family..then he looked around and holy shit, I am in a Mormon family...only without the Mormon part. Only this wasn't your normal Mormon poligomy, it was Mormon polygamy Warren Jeffs style...ya know, with extra child molestation.

He started to life the binoculars again, but realized his new friend was still there, looking at him with a goofy smile.

Does she wanna do it? Because if she does I'm totally down.

Nope. "Is it true what they say about gay guys?"

"I dunno, what do they say?" Lemy asked and peered through the binoculars. Billy Shears was slapping yet another ass, no joke. This dude's outta control.

"That they're, like, good at interior design and fashion and stuff."

A dude who was obviously the coach (grey sweat suit, blue cap, whistle) came over and slapped Billy's butt; Billy slapped his back. Holy shit, football's even gayer than I thought. "No. I'm a slobby gay guy."

The girl gasped in surprise. "Those exist?"

"Yup," Lemy said.

Long story short, she eventually wandered off and he was alone again.

And starting to get bored. Jesus, how long does it take to practice groping other men? He finally whipped out his ipod and went through the selection. AC/DC, Judas Priest, Aerosmith, Metallica, Pantera, Slipknot...ah, here we go. He hung his earbuds around his neck and slipped the device into his breast pocket. He glanced up, and everyone was leaving the field. He looked through the binoculars and found Billy Shears crossing the parking lot. Target is on the move, repeat, target is on the move.

_Dead I am the one, exterminating son_

_Slipping through the trees, strangling the breeze_

Lemy watched him round a corner and disappear from sight; he toed the kickstand, threw the binoculars into the backpack, and tossed it over his shoulder.

_Dead I am the sky, watching angels cry_

_While they slowly turn, conquering the worm_

He turned the bike around and started pedaling down the sidewalk. A woman holding a little girl's hand was coming in his direction. As he passed, she turned her head. "Faggot!"

_Dig through the ditches_

_And burn through the witches_

_I slam in the back of my_

_Dragula_

Ignore them, Lemy; focus on Billy.

And focus he did.

He was hoping he'd go straight to his side piece, but instead he went everywhere fucking else.

_Dig through the ditches_

_And burn through the witches_

_I slam in the back of my_

_Dragula_

The drugstore. Lemy sat astride the bike. Across the street, a couple of old guys sat on chairs outside the barber shop; they pointed and laughed, and Lemy's face flushed.

_Dead I am the pool, spreading from the fool_

_Weak and what you need, nowhere as you bleed_

The dry cleaners. Lemy parked the bike next to a fire hydrant and went over to a Coke machine standing next to the front door of a sub shop. He was thirsty as fuck from pedaling so much and he had one dollar...exactly the price of a refreshing, ice cold Sprite. He slipped his greenback in...and the fucking machine ate it. Flashing, he jammed his thumb into the Sprite button, but nothing happened. Son of a bitch! He lashed out and punched it, then turned away as a black guy in a snapback Yankees cap walked by, looking from the bike then to Lemy. "That yours?"

"Yes," Lemy grumbled.

The man recoiled. "Nigga, you gay."

_Dead I am the rat, feast upon the cat_

_Tender is the fur, dying as you purr_

The ice cream shop. Billy sat at a picnic table and licked a strawberry soft serve in a very homoerotic fashion. Or maybe Lemy just had gay on the brain. Hard not to when literally everyone's shouting homophobic slurs at you.

He was sitting at the curb and panting, his face red. He stripped out of his shirt three blocks back; his bare chest glistened with sweat. He was hot, his mouth was dry, his legs hurt, and he was thhhhhis close to going full diva. You wanna see gay, I'll give you gay, not the happy-show tunes type, either; the claw-your-fucking-eyes-out type.

"Son?"

Lemy turned his head. A priest in full uniform - black pants, black shirt, Roman collar, the works - stood there, his hands clasped in front of him. "What?"

The priest took a step forward and loomed over him, his neutral lips curling up in a very ungodlike smile. "Do you have any Catholic in you?"

Lemy blinked. Uh...what? "N-No."

The priest leaned in until his nose was almost touching Lemy's. "Do you want some?" he whispered.

_Dig through the ditches_

_And burn through the witches_

_I slam in the back of my_

_Dragula_

A house on a suburban street. White picket fences, American flags, pink flamingos, gazing balls, and kids running up and down the sidewalks. Lemy was parked across the street from what he assumed was Billy's house: It was a little one story with dirty white siding and a green awning over one window. The lawn was unmowed and the…

"Nice bike, loser," a husky voice said. Alright, that's fucking it. He turned, and a fat ten-year-old boy was there, his lank black hair oily as fuck and his cheeks rosy red.

"Shut the fuck up, tits," Lemy said, "can your fat ass even ride a bike?"

Tits blinked.

"Yeah, fuck outta here with that," Lemy snarled,, "big dumb bitch."

For a moment the kid stared at him...then his fist crashed into Lemy's face like a freight train. He fell back and his head hit the curb. Stars burst across his vision and red pain filled his skull. Wow, that hurt...but the handlebar ramming into his nuts hurt waaaaaay worse.

_Dead I am the life, dig into the skin_

_Knuckle crack the bone, twenty one to win_

_Dead I am the dog, hound of hell you cry_

_Devil on your back, I can never die_

The park. Lemy parked behind a bench and watched as Billy, dressed now in tan dress pants and a lime green polo shirt, strolled down a concrete walkway. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand and Lemy's heart raced with anticipation. This is it: He's gonna meet his sidepiece, I'm gonna get my pictures, then I'm gonna go home and forget this bullshit day ever happened,

Billy stopped and sat down on a bench, then glanced at his watch. Taking that as his cue, Lemy hopped off the bike, knelt behind his own bench, and took the Nikon out of the bag. It really was a sweet camera; photography really wasn't his thing, but if it was, he'd steal this thing in a heartbeat. Sorry, sis, I dunno where your camera went. I know, mine does look just like it. Funny, huh?

A girl with black hair came down the path; Billy saw her, smiled, and got to his feet. Lemy lifted the camera, zoomed in, and snapped a picture just as they kissed. HA! Fuckin' got it! 'It' wasn't much, though; they didn't even use tongue. Who ya kissing, guy, your grandmother? Suck her face off, give Daddy Lemy his money shot!

Instead, they sat down and held hands. Lemy took a picture of that too.

Bzzzz.

The fuck? He turned his head just as a bee landed on his shoulder; after the day he'd had, he couldn't help but think the bee was landing on him because get it, lol, you're a flower, dur-de-dur. He scrunched his lips to the side and blew a puff of air. The bee tumbled away...then came back. "Get outta here, dumbass." He swatted it and it flew off, only to return, this time with a friend. Oh, no, I know where this is going, I am not about to get fucking swarmed with -

"Hey!"

Billy was stalking over, his shoulders bunched and his fists balled at his sides

Lemy's heart jumped into his throat. "Oh, fuck." He leapt to his feet and started to run, his arms and legs pumping as fast as they could. He threw a frightened glance over his shoulder just as Billy snatched him by the back of the shirt and yanked him roughly off the ground. Lemy cried out, and Billy spun his around to face him. The football player's teeth were bared and his eyes were pooled with rage. "You little pervert."

Lemy Loud wasn't a bitch...he would never beg and plead for mercy; he'd rather die.

Did you buy that?

Eh, it was worth a try.

"It's not like that, man, I swear, don't beat me up, please!" He thrashed and kicked his feet, dangling like a field mouse in the talons of a hawk. "I can explain!"

The girl rushed over; she looked angry. Don't flatter yourself, honey, you're hot but not so hot I'd take pictures of you. Billy dragged Lemy so close their noses almost touched. "Start explaining," he growled.

"Your girlfriend hired my sister to follow you because she thinks you're cheating on her and she roped me into this, I don't even wanna be here, man, I just wanted to go to IHOP. That's all, I swear."

The girl's face paled, and Billy turned to her. "Really, Meagan?"

Oh. That's Meagan? Uh-oh.

"W-W-Well, you've been really distant," she said, "I thought…"

Billy let Lemy go, and he fell to the ground in a heap. He scuttled away like a crab and drew himself to a sitting position.

"Because my mother has cancer," Billy said, "she's dying!"

Meagan's eyes widened. "What?"

Lemy's eyes darted between them. He kind of wished he had a tub of popcorn...or Tide Pods.

"We just found out," Billy said through clenched teeth. He sounded pissed. "I told you I love you, and you do...this?" He gestured wildly to Lemy. Technically, she did Liby (ummm), but okay.

Meagan reached out her hands. "I'm so sorry, I-I had no idea."

Sighing, Billy brushed them away and sulked off. "Just...whatever. We're done."

"Billy, no!" Meagan started after him, her hands outstretched like he was Jesus and she was a blind leper who wanted the H - Healing. Lemy started to get up, but she spun on him, her eyes blazing and her teeth metaphorical fangs. He jerked and fell flat on his back. "Good job, you little creep, he wasn't supposed to see you."

Lemy held his hands up in a supplicating gesture. "Hey, look, I -"

She sighed in disgusted and pounded angrily off. Lemy watched her go, his eyes going to her butt; her hips swished violently, and he felt something happening downstairs. Hey, man, she's single now, go for it. You can be her rebound guy.

Uh, as tempting as that sounded, Lemy had a little bit of pride, so, yeah, fuck that rebound guy shit. Same thing with pity fucks, ya know? If you don't like me for me and wanna do me, then, just...nevermind.

Getting to his feet, he brushed himself off and looked around. A few guys dressed like preps tossed a Frisbee back and forth off to his left, and an old couple strolled arm-in-arm down the path. No one was paying attention to him, but let him set his ass on that bike and BOOM. He sighed. He had bigger worries than being called a fag...like explaining to Liby how he botched her case. Man, he was not looking forward to that.

Feeling two inches tall, he picked the bike up and started walking it toward the street. She was going to be pissed. Oh, God, she was going to show everyone that picture and he was going to be tee-totally fucking fucked. His social life was gonna be out the window, all the girls would think he was a perv, he'd never get laid, he'd die a virgin, and then he'd come back as a zombie and still not get any..

Whatever. He could handle that, he was more worried...ya know...he was worried about letting Liby down, okay? Despite all the trash he talked, he loved his sister and this was mad important to her, so fucking it up...

"Nice bike, fag!" one of the Frisbee players called, and his buddies laughed. Hot tears welled in Lemy's eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

By the time he got home twenty minutes later, his stomach was a bubbling cauldron of dread and his heart staggered achily in his chest. He parked the bike in the garage then went around front, climbing the steps and staring at his feet in shame. When someone cleared their throat, he looked up: Liby stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping. Oh, shit, she knows.

"I got a call from Meagan," she said tightly, "she fired me."

Lemy rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, I kinda…"

"Totally fucked it up," she spat. "I knew something like this was going to happen. I never should have sent you."

In an instant, Lemy's shame (at being called a fag all day and letting Liby down) turned to rage. "Fuck you, bitch!" he cried, and Liby's jaw dropped. "I've done this shit a thousand times for you n the past and this is the first time something's gone wrong. You should have told me what this bitch looked like." He was trembling now, the fire in his chest growing as little Lemys - a clever visual metaphor used to personify the abstract concept of thought - threw everything in that wasn't nailed down...including all that pent up sexual energy. "I wasted my entire fucking day riding your pink ass, fuck ass, bitch ass bike and getting called a fag because you're a goddamn selfish, blackmailing cunt. I got my ass kicked by a ten-year-old, I almost got molested by a Catholic priest, I almost got my ass kicked by Billy fucking Shears, and this is the thanks I get: You're a fuck up, Lemy; You screwed it up, Lemy; fuck you, Lemy; Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Fuck you! I'm done with this shit, Saturn ass, Katy Perry ass Last Friday Night looking bitch, take your goddamn pictures and shove 'em up your ass along with Daddy's dick, I'm fucking done."

Liby's mouth was a perfect O of shock, her shoulders slack. Lemy brushed past her but stopped, his eyes going to the blouse tail hanging sloppily over the skirt's waistband. "Tuck your shirt in right, you look like a goddamn drunk."

With that, he slammed up the stairs. He didn't see Loan staring at him over the back of the couch, her brows raised and the corners of her mouth turned slightly up. Wow, remind me to never piss him off again.

Lemy crossed his arms and sat back, his eyes scanning the the book open on the desk before him.

* * *

It was late in the evening and the only light was the warm, muted close of a table lamp. He'd been here ever since coming home; when Lyra came to tell him dinner was ready, he told her he wasn't hungry even though he kind of was. Whatever, though; he was saving himself for IHOP tomorrow. Oh yeah, he was going and no one was going to stop him. Not his sisters, not his parents...that priest might stop him; if he saw dude on his way there he was turning back around no questions asked.

He was just about to go for his weed when someone knocked on the door. Oh, God, who could this be? "Yeah?"

It opened and Liby came in. Lemy's eyes narrowed. "What?"

She regarded him for a few tense moments, her face inscrutable, then she sighed. "I wanted to apologize for earlier."

Lemy flinched. Really? He was expecting a fight, not an 'I'm-sorry-man.'

Maybe it was a trap. She'd get him to think they were cool, then when he least expected it, she'd jam a knife into his back and shove him down the stairs. And knowing his luck, his old pal Father McFeely would be waiting at the bottom, naked save for that goddamn Roman collar. Confess your sins, my son *thrust* Come to God *thrust* Don't tell the authorities *thrust*

He searched her eyes for traces of deception, but saw only honesty.

"I was just overwhelmed with this tax stuff," she said, "and when I get overwhelmed, I get kind of crazy."

"Oh? I'll say, you blackmailed me."

She hung her head. "I know, Lemy, I'm really sorry. I feel like a monster."

The genuine tone of remorse in her voice touched Lemy like a Catholic priest. He sighed. "It's fine. I'm sorry I fucked up your case. I...I really tried."

"I know, and thank you." She came over and put her hand on his shoulder. "You're a great guy, Lem, you really are."

I don't feel like it sometimes, but okay, I'll take the compliment. He patted her hand and she smiled at him. "To make it up to you," she said, "I burned all those pictures of you…" here her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink, "...and deleted the video they came from."

Whew.

"And I won't blackmail you ever again...unless it's really important."

Lemy cocked his head.

She smiled sheepishly.

Lemy crossed his arms.

"Fine," she said, "I won't blackmail you period."

Lemy nodded.


	4. All I Wanted Was an Omelette

**Guest: I will reupload The 'Cest Kids and No Way Home as well. I'm leaving The Sinsins out because 1), it's not finished and never will be and there hasn't been a high demand for it to come back, therefore I can get away with not publishing it again, and 2) I plan to appropriate the characters and keep them on retainer in case I ever need them.**

**STR2D3PO: I doubt it. **

**johnmonty: I'm undecided. I was considering adding one or two brief scenes, but it'll most likely be a simple reupload.**

* * *

**Lyrics to What I Got by Sublime (1996)**

_Early in the morning, risin' to the street_

_Light me up that cigarette and I strap shoes on my feet_

Lemy Loud rolled out of bed and scratched his butt. His head was bowed, his eyes were lidded, and his shoulders slumped; a raging erection pushed out the front of his black boxer shorts.

_Got to find a reason, a reason things went wrong_

_Got to find a reason why my money's all gone_

He snatched a pair of jeans from the dirty clothes hamper and pulled them on. He started to leave the room, but stopped and threw on a black T-shirt. He had a pigeon chest and he wasn't comfortable showing it off to a fuck ton of sexy girls.

_I got a dalmatian, and I can still get high_

_I can play the guitar like a motherfucking riot_

_Yep, the angst was back. Oh happy fucking day._

Nineties reggae break:

_Well, life is too short, so love the one you got_

_'Cause you might get run over or you might get shot_

In the hall, his sisters were lined up for the can. They all wore the skimpiest fucking things, man; Lyra in short shorts and a white T, her fleshy hips and the bottom of her back laid bare; Lupa in a black T that stopped halfway up her thighs (oh God you know she had nothing on underneath); Liby in that goddamn white nightgown that was so thin you could make out her tight butt; and Lacy in shorts and a red jersey. She wasn't dressed slutty, but man, you just knew she was a little firecracker fucking ball of energy, ride ya all night long, pert little tittis bouncing, pussy choking you like you owe it money oh oh oh oh oh oh yes Lemy oh god I'm cumming.

More nineties reggae:

_Never start no static I just get it off my chest_

_Never had to battle with no bulletproof vest_

_Take a small example, take a tip from me_

_Take all of your money, give it all to charity_

Um, goddamn, what he wouldn't give for five minutes alone with Lacy...or Lyra...or Leia...or any of them (except Lizy or Lulu, miss me with that pedo shit). Just five minutes man, hell, 2.50, that's all.

His erection throbbed insistently. Shut the fuck up and just put me in one of them. It's not that easy, man; I wish it was. Lemy Loud don't do rape, and that's the only way I'm gonna get any from one of them apparently.

_Lovin', is what I got, I said remember that_

_Lovin', is what I got, now remember that_

He fell into line behind Lacy and came thiiiiis close to putting his hands on her hips. Her smell wrapped around him like a randy phantom and...man, it's gonna be a bad day.

_I don't get angry when my Mom smokes pot_

_Hits the bottle and goes right to the rock_

_Fuckin' and fightin', it's all the same_

_Livin' -_

Lemy perked up. Wait a minute. What the fuck am I doing? It's IHOP time, bitches!

Fifteen minutes later, Lemy was stomping happily down the sidewalk like a marching band geek or something, angsty, lustful thoughts of his sisters replaced by angsty, lustful thoughts of the omelette he was going to demolish; it was long, hot, yellow, man, filled with cheese and peppers and mushrooms and God only knows what else. His mouth watered, his stomach rumbled, and his erection ached even worse than it did at home (I'm joking, I'm not really hard over a fucking breakfast food, sheesh). Despite getting pwned by a ten-year-old and almost raped by a horny priest yesterday, he was in a ridiculously good mood. Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to IHOP I go! Man, this was gonna be good.

Nothing, and I mean nothing was going to fuck this day up.

An hour after setting off, he reached the font of happiness AKA the International House of Pancakes: It was a tiny building with an A-frame roof and big front windows across a wide parking lot from a sleazy motel that charged by the hour. Too bad he didn't bring more money or he could lose his virginity to a beaten-up fifty-year-old hooker with a smoker's cough. Ahhh, he could see it now: She lays back on the back, spreads her legs, and sighs wearily. Alright, kid, do your thing...but hurry up, I got an appointment at the VD clinic...this itch is killing me.

Uh...yeah, I'll stick with Tammy Tube-Sock, sorry.

Being such a small place, IHOP was usually busy, but today it was virtually empty save for a few old couples and some hipster d-bag with Buddy Holly glasses working on a Macbook. Uh, my novel, uh. The hostess, a black woman with a jheri curl, led him to an out-of-the-way booth and slapped a menu on the table. He slid in and pushed it aside 'cuz, come on, he knew what he wanted. A waitress came by and took his drink order then rushed off.

While he waited for her to come back, he scanned the menu. They didn't have a very big selection when you got right down to it. Reminded him of how back in the day McDonald's had, like, three items: Cheeseburger, French fries, coffee. Wat, no chicken nuggets? No fucking Szechuan sauce?

Why do they do that anyway? Add a fucking thing to the menu...then take it away...then bring it back...then take it away again...rinse, repeat, recycle. It's kind of like the 'Disney Vault.' They take a movie, say Bambi, release it...then after a while oh, we're putting it back in 'the vault.' What the fuck?

He wasn't dumb, he knew why they did it - to drive up demand and therefore cost. You can't charge people an arm and a leg for The Jungle Book when it's always there, but when -

"Hey, fuck face."

Lemy froze.

Oh, shit.

He knew that voice.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head...and yep, there she was. Oh, nothing's going to ruin this day. God: Think again, fucko,

Her name was Carmen Santiago (where in the world…) but everyone called her Juicy because on the first day of kindergarten, she wore a pair of pink sweatpants with JUICY across the butt...they sent her ass home and made her change LOL. Dad used to mess with her aunt Ronnie Anne back in the day...you know, before he got really serious about incest. Now, Lemy had seen pictures of Ronnie Anne, and Juicy looked a lot like her...only Ronnie Anne wasn't three hundred pounds. Seriously, this girl was a big mother fucker. She wore her short black hair in pitiful little pigtail nubs, and the back of her neck looked like a pack of Ball Park Franks. She was mean as fuck too.

Today she was looking extra obese in a pair of purple sweat pants and a white tank top that did little to cover that sloppy, greasy thing spilling over her waistband. Like usual, she wasn't wearing a bra, and her perpetually erect nipples made like tents against the fabric. The stench of sour sweat, dirty pussy, and stankin' feet wafted off of her in sickening waves, pinching Lemy's nostrils and turning his stomach.

He hated this bitch. "Hey," he said.

Instead of fucking off and dying like he halfway hoped she would, she sat down, struggling to fit - grunting, straining, sweating, man, it was like a train, he couldn't look away. "So," she panted when she was done, her gut pressing against the table, "what we having?"

Lemy hung his head. Was this shit really happening? One day, God, all I ask is one good day. I'm not a bad guy. I can be a crybaby here and there, but I'm nice, I'm polite, I help people. Why you gotta do me like this me?

"I'm gonna have an omelette," he said.

Juicy hummed. "No, you not. You having a steak." She leaned over the table as much as her stomach would allow (which wasn't much at all) and batted her eyelashes. "Put some meat on those bones."

Excuse me?

The waitress came back and sat a glass of Coke in front of him, then whipped out an order pad. "Alright, what'll you kids have?"

Lemy opened his mouth, but Juicy cut him off. "Two steaks for me and my boyfriend."

Lemy's jaw hit the floor. Boyfriend?

The waitress nodded and hurried away. Wait...my omelette…

Juicy propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. There were hearts in her eyes - literal fucking hearts - and hairs on her upper lip. Lemy's lips puckered in disgust. When I said it'd be nice to know at least one girl finds me attractive, I did not mean Juicy Santiago. "How's your summer been, fuck face?" Her voice was low, husky. Her tongue darted out and swiped obscenely across her lower lip...like a worm.

"Uh, it's been -"

Confusing, awkward, sexually frustrating

" - okay."

She hummed. "You did some growing." Her eyes slithered up and down his body, and he shivered.

"Y-Yeah, I-I had a growth spurt, I guess. Shot up a-a couple inches."

The corners of her mouth turned suggestively up. "I wonder what else grew."

A hot blush burst across Lemy's cheeks. "Uh, n-n-nothing, in fact it shrank."

Juicy giggled. "I doubt that. I bet it big, thick, hot, and yummy."

Great Scott, that's disgusting.

"No, it's honestly not. It's like a cocktail sausage. Weak. Pathetic. Shriveled."

"Why don't you come with Mama Juicy in the bathroom," she said, her eyes flashing with red with lust, "let me see."

Hot bile rose in Lemy's throat, and he swallowed it down. His eyes went to her hands: They were big, mannish, and speaking of sausages, are those fingers or Jimmy Dean links? He tried to imagine Juicy giving him a handie in one of the bathroom stalls, and his dick literally crawled into his stomach.

Do it. Beggars can't be choosers - it's either her or nothing.

See, you're forgetting Tammy…

"No, you don't wanna see it. It's really nothing." Then, to change the subject. "How was your summer?"

"Boring," she said simply.

Lemy nodded.

For a while they sat in awkward silence - at least it was awkward to Lemy. She oogled him the way he oogled his sisters, but she wasn't trying to be sneaky about it: He'd heard of being eye-raped before, but never had he experienced it until now. It was actually pretty disturbing; he felt dirty, violated. Is this how Lyra or Lupa would feel if they caught him staring at them? Wow. Shoe's on the other foot, bitch, and he didn't like it one bit.

After what felt like an eternity, their waitress returned and sat their food in front of them. Lemy frowned at the steak. Sure, it looked good...but it wasn't an omelette. He really had his heart set on that omelette.

"Eat up, stud," Juicy said as she dug in.

Sighing, Lemy picked up his fork and knife. So IHOP was a bust. Thanks a lot, Juicy. Might as well go home. I don't even want this fucking steak. "I just remembered," he said, "I have something I have to do. I gotta go."

Juicy's face darkened, and Lemy's heartbeat sped up. Let's be honest, he didn't stand a chance against this bitch...but she'd have to catch him first, and if he couldn't outrun a three hundred pound girl with stubby little legs, he deserved to get creamed.

He was tense, ready to spring and run away at the slightest sign of danger. "Fine," Juicy said with a disappointed sigh. She struggled to extract herself from the booth…

...then slid in next to him.

Oh fuck.

She put one gargantuan arm around his shoulder and dragged him close. Her smell was even worse up close. "Give Mama Juicy a kiss before you go."

Lemy's lips peeled back from his teeth in horror. He'd rather kiss his old man. The thing was: He couldn't say no. She had him trapped, and if he turned her down, she'd rip his nuts off and wear them like a pair of earrings. Therefore...as much as the idea made him want to curl up in a ball and die...he had to kiss her.

Just a quick peck.

"S-Sure."

Closing his eyes, he puckered his lips and leaned reluctantly forward.

That's when Juicy struck: She melded her lips to his and jammed her tongue down his throat. The taste of steak and rank morning breath filled his mouth, and his eyes flew open. He tried to pull away, but she grabbed his face in her hands and held him in place. Her tongue clumsily massaged his, her bits-of-food choked saliva swishing around and sliding down the back of his throat like snot. He balled his hand into a fist and almost cracked her in the side of the head, but for all the shit he talked, he couldn't bring himself to hit a girl, even if she was raping his mouth.

She moved one hand from his face and grabbed his crotch, her thumb pressing painfully against his flaccid head.

Okay, he was willing to sit there and let her tongue fuck him, but this was crossing the line. Slapping his hands onto her big, beefy shoulders, he shoved her back, and the kiss broke. Juicy's eyes were hazy with lust and a long, silvery ribbon of drool dotted with bits of mushed steak hung down her chin. She was lovedrunk.

Before she could recover, he slipped under the table and power-crawled out, getting to his feet and whacking his head painfully. Ow, goddamn it!

"Hey!" Juicy cried.

But Lemy was already running for the door, his arms and legs (and his heart) pumping furiously.

"You not gonna pay?"

Lemy hung a right.

"Cheap ass bitch!"

He slammed through the door.

"Imma still fuck you though!"

Outside in the hot August sun, Lemy bent, clasped his hands to his knees, and spilled the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. Splat! Stomach acid coated the inside of his mouth, but underneath it he could still taste her - rancid meat, spoiled milk, rotten ass hole. Jesus fuck, did that bitch ever hear of brushing? He coughed and heaved. God, her tongue was in his fucking mouth, all wet and squirming and…

Splat.

And she touched his junk, too.

Raped...he was practically raped. In the middle of fucking IHOP..

Standing straight, he fought to catch his breath.

Of all the fuck up things to happen to him over the past couple days, that was the worst. He wasn't joking when he said he felt violated.

A shiver raced down his spine.

As he walked home, he ran it through his mind again and again, and with each pass, he got angrier. Call him a sensitive little bitch, but he wanted his first kiss to be special, you know, with a girl he was into (Lupa...Lyra...Lacy…) and that fat bitch Juicy took it from him.

Did it really count, though? He didn't kiss her back, his tongue just...kinda sat there.

No, no, it fucking counted.

And that made him really sad.

A car passed in the street going in the opposite direction. The driver stuck his head out the window, "Hey, fag, where's your bike?"

Lemy hung his head and tried really hard not to cry, but just this once...he lost.

* * *

Lemy Loud wasn't the only one having a bad day. His sister, Lacy, had it rough, too.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror that morning, naked save for a pair of shorts, she stared at her tiny breasts with a frown. Her areola was pink and her nipples were hard with cold. She reached up and cupped one mound in her small hand.

Aren't you late for a meeting of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee?

A flash of anger crossed her face. He knew how much that shit bothered her. This time around, for some reason, it didn't just bother her...it fucking ate her alive. Did he really think she was small? Dad liked her breasts...but did Lemy?

She sighed and grabbed her toothbrush. It shouldn't matter what that little freak thought, but it did; for the past two days his mocking voice echoed through the chambers of her head. Snaggletooth...titty committee. Blah blah blah I'm a dumb eighties metalhead wannabe. Normally she wasn't very self-conscious, but after that little remark…

What room did he have to talk? Virgin ass bitch, he never even touched a boob before. Dad had - plenty - and he liked her chest just fine, so there.

Snaggletooth.

Whatever. She was done dwelling. She squirted a measure of toothpaste onto the bristles and brushed slowly, thoroughly, white foam coating her lips and giving her the appearance of a rabid dog.

It really shouldn't bug her like this; last night when she was with Daddy she was so unfocused she didn't even get off - she wound up faking it. You're so beautiful, he said as he peppered her face with tender kisses, his hands threaded through her hair. Yeah, she thought, but Lemy…

After, when she was alone, she lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Lupa's soft breathing. Her chest was tight and her stomach throbbed sickly. Snaggletooth. Jesus, Lace, it was just a roast; it happens all the time. Why are you so butthurt?

She spat into the sink and rinsed it, then went out into the hall. Lyra, Liby, Leia, Loan, Luan, Lynn...no Lemy, though. Good. Hope his bitch ass ran away.

In her room, she dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a red shirt with a white number 2 across the front, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her socks and shoes on. Across the room, Lupa was stretched out on her own bed, her arm jutting over the side and a cigarette between her fingers. "You got any plans today?" Lupa asked.

Lacy thought for a moment. She was thinking of going to the park, but she wasn't sure. "Not really. Why?"

"No reason," Lupa said. "Just making conversation."

Lacy lifted her brow. Lupa was a tad antisocial; her doctor told her that she needed to make more of an effort to 'connect with others,' and sometimes she did it in a really awkward way.

Awkward.

Kind of how she felt around Lemy lately.

Shut up, Loud.

She tied her shoes and got to her feet. "You?"

Lupa shook her head slowly. "No. I might draw something." She took a drag and pushed out a plume of smoke, then turned. "What's more disgusting: A Kentucky Klondike Bar or a Cleveland Steamer?"

Lacy's nose crinkled. One of Lupa's favorite things to draw was BDSM scenes depicting the most grotesque sexual acts you could imagine. She said she liked to shock people, but Lacy suspected she was really into that kind of thing. In fact, there were times she'd hiss and wince when she sat down, like maybe Dad spanked her the night before.

Weirdo.

"Kentucky Klondike Bar," Lacy said and shivered. She only knew what that was because Lupa had her read this fan fiction story where this woman gave her son one - it made her literally throw up.

Lupa nodded slowly. "Yeah...that's what I was thinking. Should I draw Dad giving one to Loan, or Loan giving one to Lemy?"

Heat spread across Lacy's face as she imagined cartoon Lemy bent over and squinting, cartoon Loan behind him with a frozen turd and a mad smile. "Uh...I dunno. I gotta go."

Before Lupa could reply, Lacy ducked into the hall and pounded down the stairs, trying to outrun the vision of Lemy's butt thrust into the air, but it caught up to her.

Gross.

Snaggletooth.

She drew a savage sigh as she crossed the living room and went into the kitchen. Your tits are small. So's your dick, bitch. Virgin loser motherfucker. Never been touched, probably cum as soon as a girl touches it. Oh, oh, oh *splat*

Her blush deepened. Actually, remove Lemy from the equation and...

Outside, she grabbed a soccer ball from the porch and stomped into the backyard. The day was hot and the sky hazy with cloud cover, and she instantly started to sweat. Stupid ass, punk ass retard. Snaggletooth.

Ugh.

Think about something else, will you?

Yeah, like the fact you're not captain of the football team this year...Amanda Paulson is. Lacy sneered distastefully. Amanda Paulson was her archenemy and, truth be told, as good a player as her. But not better! She was tall and graceful with pale, shoulder length brown hair and murky blue eyes...oh, and her boobs were nice and big...yet another reason to hate the bitch.

Like her mother, Lacy was just a little competitive, so when Amanda joined the team last year, she went out of her way to run her down, but could never quite do it. Amanda knew how she felt and fucking reveled in it, making snide remarks and bragging on herself. Ugh, it made Lacy so mad she shook. Once, in the shower after practice, Lacy was soaping up when Amanda and another girl walked by. "Yeah," Amanda said, her voice exaggeratedly loud (so that Lacy could damn well hear), "Lemy Loud is cute. I'd totally do him." It got under her skin because Amanada was trying to be a bitch, not for any other reason.

She drew her foot back. Would she really do him, though? I mean, what girl would? He was a creep. Lacy would never.

Kick.

Though she had to admit, the idea of being with a virgin was kind of hot, even if she talked shit about them. Being someone's first and blowing their mi-

That thought cut off when the ball crashed into her face. Stars burst across her vision and she fell back onto her ass. See, she wasn't paying attention; the ball hit the fence and came back and...goddamn, that hurt. She lifted her fingers to her nose and they came away bloody. As if on cue, the pain really hit, red and hot and throbbing like an abscessed tooth. Tears welled in her eyes and she sucked a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. I bet I looked real smart - dooooooiiiiiii *whack*

She got shakily to her feet and tilted her head back. Bloody noses happen a lot when you're the best sports start in town, so she had a protocol. She crossed to the back door, went in, and started for the stairs, her face pointed at the ceiling the entire time.

"Bust your face again?" Loan asked from the couch. She was playing one of those dumb shooting games.

"Yep," Lacy admitted with a rush of shame, "it happens."

Loan hummed.

In the bathroom, she grabbed a couple cotton balls and shoved them into her nostrils with a wince.

Stupid soccer ball, she thought sullenly as she dropped onto the closed toilet lid, I didn't kick it that hard, did I? She tried to remember but couldn't, she was too busy woolgathering. Oh, Amanda, virgins, Lemy *rekt*

"You okay?"

She looked up. Lyra was standing in the doorway, concern on her face.

"I'm fine," Lacy said, "just a bloody nose."

Lyra frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lacy said just a little more sharply than she meant. She was embarrassed, alright; ole busted nose Lacy trying to live up to her mother's legacy and failing.

Now that was bullshit. She was better than Mom. She didn't have the trophies to prove it, but she was. She fucking was.

Later, at lunchtime, she was eating a sandwich at the dining room table when the front door opened. She whipped her head around, hoping it was Lemy so she could start paying his fuck ass back for that snaggletooth shit, but it was only Aunt Lucy. Lacy sighed. With a mouthful of food. Guess what happened. Go on, guess.

A wad went down the wrong hole, and suddenly she was choking, her airway closed and her face turning red. She coughed and slammed her fist into her chest (ow), but that didn't help. Panic flooded her and she jumped to her feet, the chair tipping back and her hands splaying on the table. She gasped, choked even harder, then clawed at her throat.

Something hard hit her in the back, and the wad flew from her windpipe and landed wetly on the her plate. She sucked a great, heaving lungful of air and coughed once more. I almost died!

"Are you okay?" Liena asked and leaned in, one hand rubbing a comforting circle between Lacy's shoulders blades.

Lacy nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

Flashing a wan smile, Liena patted her back. "Like, be more careful next time. Choking on your food is not a good thing."

It's not?

Out loud: "Yeah, sorry, I was going to fast, I guess."

And not focusing.

Snaggletooth.

* * *

Lemy walked around until his tears dried and his eyes weren't puffy anymore, then went home, getting there just as the mailman shoved something into the mailbox. Lemy's heart jumped. Are my transistor tubes in?

He went over, opened the door, and, holy shit, there's a package. A very slim one. Kinda like it had transistor tubes in it. He reached in, grabbed it, and held it up to the light; when he saw his name printed on a white label, he pumped his fist in excitement. Fuck yeah!

Suddenly not getting his omelette and being kissed by Juicy "Gross Ass" Santiago didn't matter as much. Holding his prize to his chest like a loving Mama (gimme a kiss before you go), Lemy went inside and raced up the stars. In his room, he slammed the door, crossed to the desk, and sat. *Sung to the tune of the Batman theme song*

Transistor tubes

Trasistor tubes

Do what transistor tubes do.

He ripped the package open and took them out; a flood of foam popcorn came with and scattered across the floor. God, don't step on this shit, makes more of a mess than George W. Bush in the Middle East.

Joking. Lemy don't do know the little (R) and (D) that come after people's names on the news? One sood for Retard and the other for Dumbass.

Anyway, he took one of the tubes out and stowed the rest in the drawer. He removed the lid from the Zenith and sat it aside. Now, just as long as no one bothers m -

Knock-knock.

Right on fucking cue! I swear to shit, every time I'm in the middle of something, someone pays me a visit. Do they do this on purpose? It's like they're sitting around in a big group watching me on a TV screen, and the moment I dare to do something, they pounce.

Knock-knock-knock. More insistent. At least they're polite about it. "What?" he asked impatiently.

The door opened and Liena stuck her head in...her cute, blonde head. She smiled brightly, her eyes dancing with light. "Hey, Lem, uh, can I come in?"

Lemy's throat tightened. Liena was what the kids call thicc. Not like Kim Kardashian's big, fake bubble ass, but she had a little meat on her bones (give Mama Juicy a kiss before you go). Lemy liked that. More to oogle.

And more to be an angsty bitch over.

Sigh.

"I guess," he said and turned back to the Zenith. Focus on your tubes, Lem, you'll actually get somewhere with them.

Liena sipped in, shut the door, and came over, dropping onto the bed, her hands laced in her lap and her knees touching. . Like that. She wore a seafoam green pair of overalls and thick gray socks. An image flashed through Lemy's mind: Her in only those socks, her heels digging into his butt as he penetrated her. Oh, Lemy, that's, like, so good.

A shiver ran down his spine, and his cheeks turned bright red. Shut the fuck up, brain.

Dick: Keep going.

Speaking of, he was getting hard. He shifted uncomfortably to hide it.

Liena was smiling at him as if waiting for permission to speak. When she smiled, man, her whole face lit up. She was beautiful. Fucking beautiful. If she let him, he'd hold her hand, kiss her lips, stroke her hair...you know, sweet and tender stuff. You don't fuck Liena, you thread your fingers through hers, press your cheek to her cheek, and make slow, passionate love to her.

His stomach clutched. "W-W-What's up?" he stammered.

She drew a heavy sigh, and a heartbreaking shadow of dejection crossed her face. Lemy frowned. Had he been braver, he would have gone over, put his arm around her shoulder, and kissed her deeply. He wasn't brave, though, because if Liena rejected him - if this angel on earth shoved him away and looked at him with disgust - he'd off himself, no fucking joke. Siri, how many transistor tubes does it take to block a windpipe?

"I, like, need a big favor and everyone else is too busy to help me." There was a wounded inflection in her voice that stuck in Lemy's heart like a rusty butter knife. Too busy? Now that pissed him off. See, in the Loud family, Loan was the oldest at twenty-one, but she was so fucked up that she might as well not even be there. It fell, then, to Liena, nineteen last month, to be the Big Sister, and while she wasn't perfect, she did a damn good job. When he or one of his sisters skinned their knees, Liena was there with a Band-Aid and a kiss; when someone needed advice, Liena was there to give it...albeit not very well sometimes; when someone felt down, she did her best to bring them back up. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, she was never too busy to help, but everyone else was? Fuck that.

Anything, angel eyes.

Out loud: "What?"

"Okay," she said and shifted, "I met this guy on OKCupid and I reaaaally like him."

Lemy's heart shattered into a million quivering started to hang his head, but perked back up. Wait a minute. "What about Dad?"

Liena rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to marry my father, Lemy; that would be weird."

Oh, silly me.

"Anyway," she continued, "he, like, wants to see pictures of my body and stuff -"

Lemy started. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said and held up a hand, "how long have you known this guy?"

She scrunched her lips and flicked her eyes to the side. "Ummm...three days. He says he really loves me and…"

Lemy didn't hear the rest. Three fucking days? He says he loves me? That sounded like some player bullshit. He knew how it went: Baby, I love you, now open those pretty legs. Fuck that; Liena was far too good for that.

"Dude's playing you," he said. "He just wants in your pants."

Liena blinked. "Uh...no, he said he loves me."

Lemy pressed his fingers to his temple. Liena was beautiful and responsible and all that other good junk, but she wasn't exactly...smart. "Liena, look," he said seriously, "he's…"

"Are you going to help me or not?" she asked and crossed her arms. Her face was sullen...then pleading. "Please?"

Lemy regarded her for an aching moment...she was making a huge fucking mistake and he did not want to see her get hurt. Sometimes, though, people have to stumble.

"What you need my help with?"

"He wants pictures of my body, and I can't take them myself. Can you?"

For a brief moment, his brain failed to compute what she was saying. Then it smacked him like a sock filled with bars of soap, and his entire nervous system skipped.

She wanted him to take pictures...of her naked.

His dick slammed against the inseam of his jeans and his jaw fell open with an audible click.

"Will you do it?" she asked and balled her hands as if in prayer. "Please?"

Had he the presence of mind, he would have said no, but he didn't: His brain was out to lunch and the inmates were running the asylum: His heart raced, his balls ached, and his lungs wouldn't work right. His eyes crept from the tops of her socks to the crown of her head, grazing her creamy flesh and lingering on her big brown eyes.

He nodded dumbly.

Liena brightened. "Thanks, Lemy!" She jumped up and started to undo one of the straps of her overalls. "You're the best."

Lemy swallowed hard as she undid the other. They dropped and pooled around her feet. Underneath, she wore a tight green T-shirt that clung lovingly to her full breasts and a pair of crisp white panties with pink fringe along the waistband. Lemy's heart came to a complete fucking stop and his dick strained like it was trying to rip away from his body. Fuck you, angst ass bitch, Imma get mine.

She stepped out of the overalls and peeled her shirt off; her bare breasts plopped out: Her nipples were erect, her areolas light brown. Her flesh was creamy, smooth. Lemy squirmed.

She tossed it aside, hooked her thumbs into her panties, and pulled them down, her wide, child bearing hips wiggling hypnotically. Lemy bit his bottom lip and tried to look away, but he was transfixed, his heart slamming and blood crashing in his temples. He was hot all over, his skin smoldering with desire.

She stood to her full height, and her sex was exposed for him to see. It was bare, a Y-shaped work of beauty nestled between her ample thighs. She was entirely nude now except for her socks, the way she always was in his fantasies. She cocked her head, smiled cutely, and put her hands on her hips. "How do I look?"

Like a fucking goddess; Venus with arms; a wet dream; fucking paradise; enough to stop a freight train or start the Third World War.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly, "you're, like, all red and trembly."

Oh, God, I'm leaking and I don't care, I don't fucking care, this is a dream come true, fucking fuck, fucking fuck, help me, Jesus, guide my penis into her, please, I'll do anything! ANYTHING! "You...y-y-you l-l-look great," he said and flashed a toothy smile.

She giggled sweetly. "Thanks." She went over to the bed and sat down. "Can you use your phone? I forgot mine."

Use my phone? Huh? Why?

Oh, right, the camera.

Heh.

Out to lunch, you know.

"S-Sure," he said and reached for his phone. It fell from his trembling fingers three times before he got a good grip on it; like Michael J. Fox trying to order a pizza.. He swiped his thumb across the screen and opened the camera. He glanced up at Liena, and she smiled. His eyes went to her breasts, then to her stomach. Do it...shove her back, blonde hair all pooled around, and kiss her...kiss her lips, her chin, her jawline, man, fucking cup her breast and knead her nipple, make her gasp into your mouth, make her knees quiver, MAKE LOVE TO HER!

"Ready?" she asked.

Lemy nodded. "Y-Yeah."

I'm so fucking ready.

"Okay...take a picture."

I'd rather take you, baby, honey, love, sweetie, honey, my queen, my angel, mommy…

He ranked one trembling hand through his hair and focused on his breathing; he was starting to hyperventilate like Loan when she went outside. Oh, no, grass...trees! Run away!

Liena watched him, her head tilted in confusion.

He lifted the phone and she beamed. He took it. "A-Another one?"

Her head bobbed up and down. "Yep. I wanna take a bunch."

WIth that, she laid back on the bed and spread her legs. Lemy's eyes widened as her folds opened, showing him everything. "Come here."

Mindlessly, he got to his feet, then realized his was splitting his jeans in half; he hunched over and went to her on shuffling feet, his heartbeat increasing with every step until it was blasting, pounding, insert fucking noun here. Liena propped her feet on the edge of the bed and brushed her teeth across her lower lip. God, she looked like she wanted it...her eyes were hazy and her cheeks were tinged pink...AHHHHH.

"Take a picture of my pussy," she panted, "get between my legs."

She spread herself even more, and Lemy's eyes went to her center. He could see her hole...her tight, wet, inviting, amazing, glorious…

"On your knees," she said, her voice a husky whisper.

Lemy obeyed; his goddamn knees were about to give out anyway. He was a foot from her pussy if not less - so close that her sick heat broke across his face, so close that her musky scent drifted into his nostrils, worming deep into his brain and stroking his most primal instincts. "Really, like, get in there," she said.

"O-O-O-Okay." He licked his lips. If he leaned just a little bit, he could lick her...slowly, starting where the backs of her legs met and moving up, dancing, teasing, tasting, kissing her, sucking her, rolling her clit under his tongue and making her purr like a kitten…

He lifted the phone and snapped a picture...two...three...he was starting to hyperventilate again and his body burned with passion. He was leaking through his jeans, a small dark spot forming at his head and spreading across the fabric like ink.

Liena shifted, and her folds grazed his lips.

His heart stopped and he died.

The end.

"Okay, like this," she said over her shoulder.

He didn't really die, but for a moment there the entire world rolled away and he was somewhere else. D-D-Did that really happen?

It was so smooth, so silky, so searingly hot.

He blinked and looked up at her. She was bent over the bed, her legs spread far apart and her perfect heart-shaped ass inches from his face, both of her holes (GAH, SO BEAUTIFUL!) right fucking there.

She was pink, slick, and glistening.

And he was literally one wrong move away from unloading into his pants.

Lemy lifted the phone but it shook so bad he couldn't use it.

"This is really turning me on," Liena said, and Lemy's heart sputtered.

Oh, shit, me too!

"My little brother...seeing my body." Her voice was low, slow, and thick with lust. Lemy's head throbbed. I'm about to get laid...HOLY FUCK I'M ABOUT TO GET LAID! He tried to open his mouth to tell her how fucking hard he was, but his vocal cords were locked and only a breathy groan issued forth.

She bit her lp and squeezed her breast in one hand. "Ummmm...I'm, like, so hot."

Her other hand dipped between her legs and she started to play with herself. Her closed eyelids fluttered and her brow pinched; her mouth fell open and she let out a long, trembling ahhhh.

Lemy watched dumbly.

It was all he could do.

With a sigh of frustration, she bowed her head, her golden bangs screening her flushed face. "This isn't working. I need a dick."

White hot passion exploded in Lemy's head. The phone dropped from his hand and he shot up like a Baptist preacher at a tent revival. His hands fumbled at his belt and his dick did its best to tear through his jeans. He was solid gone, his mind given entirely over to pulsing lust, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his chest heaving.

Liena sighed again and stood up. "I'm gonna go see if Dad's around."

The entire world came to a crashing halt. You know that episode of Spongebob where he goes over to Sandy's tree dome and fronts like he doesn't need water, but does, and his lungs wither up and drop like dead leaves? That's what happened to Lemy's soul. He stood there, frozen, his heart bursting and his dick quivering. NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO! Liena went over to the door, picked up her underwear, and pulled them up her shapely legs. His eyes darted to her and he tried to speak, but she cut him off.

"Thanks for helping me, Lem," she said, then yanked her shirt on. No, not the girls! "You're, like, a total lifesaver." She pulled her overalls on and did the straps.

Lemy was shaking so violently he could barely stand; his balls ached monstrously and his dick, realizing it wasn't going to see any action yet again, started to deflate. Liena opened the door and started out, but stopped and tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Can you text me those pics, please?"

Lemy hung his head, and she took it as a nod. "Thanks!"

Then she was gone.

And with her his chances of scoring.

For a moment he stood in the middle of his room like a man standing in the bomb blasted rubble of everything he had ever loved...then, with a deep, guttural scream, he spun like a raging gorilla.

I AM SO FUCKING SICK OF BEING CUCKED BY MY FATHER!

He slammed his fist into the wall as hard as he could...and don't you know;

Just his luck;

He hit a stud.


	5. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Lyrics to Loser by Beck (1994)**

At breakfast the next morning, Lacy Loud stared surreptitiously at her brother, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Part pity, part sympathy, and part something else...something she couldn't quit place...or could but didn't want to.

Across the table, Lemy gazed into his cereal like he was reading tea leaves or something and not liking what he was seeing. His hands rested on either side of the bowl. One was normal, the other was swollen and purple.

She'd been watching him since he sat down ten minutes ago, her eyes darting from his hand to his face. It was hard not to feel bad for the guy; she'd been where he was before multiple times, in fact, most recently when she failed a history test and got kicked off her teams. Plus...he looked so sad. It...it kind of broke her heart.

Don't get her wrong, she was still mad pissed by that hurtful shit he said the other day, but he was her brother and she loved him, even if he could be a little bitchboi sometimes. Being tender and stuff wasn't really, you know, in her nature, but she kind of wanted to put her arm around him and comfort him or something.

And she would but one thing was stopping her: This hollow, fluttery feeling in her stomach. It hit her every time she thought about him, and it wasn't a very nice sensation. In fact, it sucked.

Therefore, instead of going to him she simply watched with a heavy heart, her ears deaf to the din and whirl of her sisters' banter and bickering. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then glanced up; she looked hurriedly away, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Money, money, money," Loan groused, "you're worse than Mr. Krabs."

Leia humphed. "At least I have initiative, sweetie. Meanwhile you sit on your ass day playing video games."

"Video games are fun," Lizy put in and took a bite of cereal. Lemy looked back at his bowl, and Lacy turned her eyes to him once more, her teeth unconsciously clamping her bottom lip in concentration.

"So's making money," Leia said, "and saving money, collecting money, touching money." She rubbed her fingers together, a dreamy expression creeping into her blue eyes. Lacy's eyes darted from her brother to Liby; she was right next to him but didn't seem to notice his dejection. No one did. Only her.

Something was obviously bothering him; you don't smash your hand into a wall then mope around the next morning for no reason. She sighed and stared down at her own cereal. Was it that virgin loser shit? Lyra told her she thought it hurt his feelings. She didn't really care at the time because the snaggletooth thing hurt her feelings, but he looked really upset, and the thought that she was the cause made her stomach ache.

It was his own fault, though. He started it.

Didn't he?

She couldn't remember now; roasts happen so often in this family it's kind of hard to keep track.

Maybe it was her fault.

Great, now I have guilt.

She flicked her eyes up to Lemy. She didn't make it a habit to appraise her brother (or any of her siblings, for that matter), and looking at him now, she noticed just how much he'd changed over the past year. His face was thinner, his jawline more rugged, and the muscles in his arms were more defined.

He was actually kind of cute.

Except for his hair. She didn't like long hair on men.

"She solves mysteries," Lyra said, "but can she solve the mystery of why her boobs won't grow?"

Liby's face flushed scarlet as everyone laughed - everyone except Lacy and Lemy. She fixed Lyra with a deadly glare and chewed her bottom lip as if in consideration.

"That metal thing on her mouth sticks out farther than they do," Loan said.

Leia choked on a mouthful of cereal, milk shooting from her nose and splashing the table. Lizy, her expression serene and unperturbed, patted her on the back.

"She does the same thing when Dad cums in her mouth," Lupa said.

"No I don't, bitch," Leia spat.

"She doesn't," Lyra agreed, "because she doesn't give head, she takes it up the ass."

Leia's face crinked in disgust. "Uh, no, I will never." She waved her hand to punctuate her sentiment. "Butt sex is gross."

Across the table, Lemy took a deep, angry breath through his nose and pushed it out like a bull getting ready to charge.

"No it's not," Lupa said casually, "especially if the guy goes slow."

Lemy's swollen fingers started to drum on the table, his nails digging into the wood and making Lacy wince. With the way that hand looked, doing that had to hurt like hell.

Liena hummed. "Dad's really gentle when he does that."

"He's always gentle," Lyra said with a blissful sigh.

"And that thing he does with his tongue," Liena said, "oh...my...god."

Everyone else voiced their agreement. Lemy's fingers were tapping faster, and now his lips were sucked in; he was breathing heavily through his nose. Lacy frowned and leaned forward. "Hey," she said hesitantly, "you okay, Lem?"

"I'm getting horny just thinking about it," Leia said, "I can't wait for him to get home."

"Me too," Lupa said flatly, "if only he was here now."

So fast Lacy missed it even though she was staring right at him, Lemy slammed his fist onto the table and jumped up so roughly that his chair tipped over; bowls and glasses clinked, and everyone started except for Lupa.

"Lemy!" Liena cried in surprise.

Ignoring her, he stormed out of the room, his hands clenched into fists and his shoulders tensed. Everyone turned their heads and watched as he went through the living room then out the front door, slamming it so hard behind him that it shook in its frame. For a moment, no one said a word, the sound of door reverberating through the house like the echo of a scream. Lacy glanced at Lyra, a look of concern passed between them.

"What's his problem?" Loan asked.

"I don't know," Liena said sternly, "but he, like, needs to tighten up. This type of behavior is not acceptable."

Should she go after him, see if he wanted to talk about it? Or should she leave him alone and let him cool off? When she was mad like that (which happened kind of often), she didn't want anyone messing with her - fuck off and let me have my space. She didn't know how Lemy operated in that regard, so she really wasn't sure what to do.

That's when she realized something: She barely knew her own brother. Oh, she knew he was into rock and fixing radios, but that was surface stuff. Dig a little deeper...and he was a virtual stranger.

What kind of sister was she? No wonder he called her snaggletooth; she deserved it.

A good sister would go after him.

A good sister would find out what was bothering him.

And if it was something she did, she would make it up to him. Some way, somehow.

For some reason she couldn't explain, her stomach lurched and her cheeks felt suddenly warm. She sighed, pushed away from the table, and got up. Lyra was holding her phone in her hands and texting, probably trying to get ahold of Lemy.

This is (probably) my mess, let me handle it, she thought shortly.

I don't need comp - help.

She went upstairs to get her own phone.

"He's probably mad Daddy's not giving him any," Leia said after Lacy was gone. She opened her mouth to continue, then snapped it closed again as understanding dawned on her.

Wait a minute…

A wicked little grin touched her glossy pink lips.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

* * *

_In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey_

_Butane in my veins so I'm out to cut the junkie_

_With the plastic eyeballs, spray paint the vegetables_

Lemy lashed out and kicked a tin can lying randomly on the sidewalk; it skidded into the street and spun like a top. I hope someone runs it over and flips, he thought.

He was stalking along the sidewalk flanking Ohio Avenue, a wide two way street lined with comfortable old houses that all reminded him of Norman fucking Bates. You know, the guy from the Psycho movies? No, you don't know, do you? That's because everything I love and talk about and think about is fifty fucking years old and no one gets it...no one gets me. I'm alone in this fucking world, too turtley for the turtle club, fucking...just a misfit. I don't fit anywhere, not with the geeks or the rockers or the goths or the jocks or any-fucking-body.

Pretty fucking sad, huh?

Add to that the shit I've been going through over the past couple months, and you have yourself a recipe for suicidal depression.

_Kill the headlights and put it in neutral_

_Stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control_

Oh, his life is bullshit because he isn't having sex with his sisters, uh; no, dick, there's more to it than that: I feel so fucking isolated from everyone else. It's like...I wanna reach out and establish connections with people, but I just can't, and if I do I...I still feel alone, like...man, I don't fucking know. I like hanging by myself, I have fun, but it'd be nice to have a place in the world, you know?

^ That stuff is the foundation of my whine-ass bitchitude, the bedrock upon which everything else is built. My old man never has time for me not that I want him to these days, I'm going through fucking super-puberty or some bullshit, everyone around me, man...when they start feeling that burning, pressing, aching, fucking can't-think-straight-can't-sit-still bullshit goddamn need, they can go and get theirs. Me? I can't. I'm literally the only one in that fucking house who's not included. I sit on the fucking sidelines while everyone else sexs it up right in fucking front of me! All my sisters, my mom, my aunts, my dad - then there's me. I need a dick, I'm gonna go to Dad. Yeah, that physically hurt. My fucking balls looked like one of those assholes from The Blue Man Group last night (and ached ike fuck too), but you know what, dick? It hurt emotionally too. I'm gonna go to Daddy because you're ugly and creepy and something's wrong with you and you're not good enough you're not touchable ew gross Lemy we don't want you…

*Echo effect*

We don't want you…

We don't want you…

_Got a couple of couches sleep on the love seat_

_Someone keeps sayin' I'm insane to complain_

_About a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt_

_She left me like I was garbage...like I was nothing._

_Don't believe everything that you read_

_You get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve_

So yeah, I'm gonna be a fucking crybaby. It's okay when Dad does it, right? You all love that. In every fucking story he's a simpering little wimp bitch stuttering and stammering, and you people slurp it up. I have one goddamn complaint and fuck me, right? Oh, he's a little bitch, I can't stand him, wah-wah-wah. Fuck you, man, fuck you. Fuck that goddamn white haired fucking loser, fuck his sisters, fuck his daughters, man, fuck everyone. Fuck that tailless cat darting across the street, fuck that bird on the highwire, fuck Jerry Garcia, big methadone eating bitch, fuck every single goddamn thing.

_So shave your face with some mace in the dark_

_Savin' all your food stamps and burnin' down the trailer park_

Oh, Lemy, you're ranting, uhhh. Yeah, I'm ranting, what the fuck of it? My family thinks I'm trash, every single person in this fucking town called me a fag the other day, everywhere I turn, man, everywhere I turn, I get it up my ass. I didn't even get my fucking omelette yesterday, Juicy's big ass saw to that. One thing...one tiny little thing...and I couldn't even have that. Fucking egg juice and vegetables fried and fucking served with cheese. A simple goddamn fucking meal.

_Soy un perdedor_

_I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me?_

_Soy un perdedor_

_I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?_

Son I'm disappointed in you, Dad tells me last night. I'm sitting there cradling my busted ass hand and he's worried because there's a hole in the wall. It's like his little sister isn't Bob fucking Vila. That's not how a man handles his anger.

Shut the fuck up, what kind of man are you? Fucking your daughters left and right. Sisters, man...that's different...but your children? Goddamn.

Maybe I'd feel a little differently if I was a girl. You'd have time for me then. My last birthday, I'm sitting with Lupa on the couch and she's going on and on about waiting for Daddy, then he comes home and they go off to fuck and you know what he does? He glances over his shoulder, "Happy Birthday, son." Like I'm a fucking afterthought.

_Forces of evil in a bozo nightmare_

_Banned all the music with a phony gas chamber_

_Cause one's got a weasel and the other's got a flag_

_One's got on the pole shove the other in a bag_

_With the rerun shows and the cocaine nose job_

His teeth were bared and grinding back and forth with a wince-inducing crunch.

It'd be different if I was a girl. If I could open my legs and let him fuck my pussy he'd be right up in my goddamn face with that stupid fucking cowlick of his. Hey, honey, Daddy had a long day at work, wanna let me pound you? You wanna suck my dick?

_The daytime crap with the folk singer slop_

_He hung himself with a guitar string_

_Slap the turkey neck and it's hangin' from a pigeon wing_

This guy, man...that's all these girls are to him, fuckng walking mouths and pusses and they're too fucking stupid and blinded to realize it. Women, man...I really don't wanna sound like a sexist...but women always go for pieces of shit. Fucking always. Then they get fucking burned and they fucking blame every man on the face of the earth while simultaneously asking 'where the good guys at?' Bitch, I'll tell you where they at, they in the fucking friend zone. Or in my case the brother zone. See...I honestly fucking love my sisters. When I talk about having sex with them, how have I fucking described it? What did I say about Liena? Remember, making love and holding her hand and shit, looking in her eyes. Dad just wants his fucking dick sucked. I'm gonna be honest with you, man, blowjobs don't even really appeal to me all that much. It's so impersonal. I don't just want my dick stimulated, I wanna kiss and touch and fucking see you.

_Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate_

_And my time is a piece of wax fallin' on a termite_

_Who's chokin' on the splinters_

But no, goddamn, how horrible. Let's fucking flock to Lincoln like he's Jesus fucking Christ and leave Lemy in the dust and sneer at him and cluck our tongues like he's a worm...because he is.

_Soy un perdedor_

_I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me?_

The rage inside of him dampened, and his stride, quick and angry before, slowed to a melancholy trudge.

It couldn't be their fault. There were, what, seven of them? All seven of them felt the same fucking way, so it had to be him. There had to be something wrong with him. But what? Was he really that ugly? W-W-What is it?

_Soy un perdedor_

_I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me?_

He couldn't say. Everything, he supposed.

_I'm a driver I'm a winner things are gonna change I can feel it_

He chuckled humorlessly.

You know...men are supposed to be strong, but...I want to held sometimes...I want someone to make me feel good and special and handsome and all that shit, and, yeah, I want to cuddle and hold hands and…

Whatever. I don't have anything any woman wants, so I just need to stop torturing myself. Stop trying, stop caring, stop thinking about it. It is what it is.

_Soy un perdedor_

_I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me?_

_Know what I'm sayin'?_

Presently, he found himself aimlessly wandering the park; a grassy field opened up before him and terminated at a stand of trees. A group of kids played tag, college d-bags tossed a Frisbee (are you the same assholes who called me a fag the other day? Try it again, bitch), and a teenage couple lay stretched out on a blanket cloud watching.

Maybe it sounds gay, but I feel like...like I have so much love to give, so much affection, and no one to give it to, so it kind of backs up into my system. You know, like toxic shock syndrome or something. It starts making me crazy, like how a guy goes crazy after a long time without busting his nut. I get that too, but...I dunno, I'm fucked up. Never mind.

He sighed.

At least this day couldn't get any worse.

"Hey, fuck face!"

Lemy froze. Why did I fucking say that? He glanced over his shoulder, and here come Juicy, big as life and twice as ugly. She was wearing purple size XXXXXXXX-L sweat pants and a white T-shirt with some gay ass rapper on the front. Her greasy stomach fell over the waistband of her pants and flapped lazily in the wind. She didn't walk, man, she waddled, and even from here he could see the sweat glistening in the folds of her triple chin. He could hear her labored breathing, and if the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, he was sure he'd be able to smell the oniony aroma of her armpits. She waved one arm, and drippy, melty fat jiggling obscenely. "Come give Mama Juicy a kiss."

Fuck that.

He started running.

"Yo!" she cried. "Boi, bring yo' ass here! Imma love up on you!"

He literally fucking screamed at the image of her loving up on him.

"Don't make me run after yo sexy ass."

The couple on the blanket were coming up fast. He threw a glance over his shoulder, and Juicy was huffing after, swaying from side to side like a hurricane battered palm. He turned his head. Blanket couple in three...two...one: He leapt as high as he could, drawing his legs up like he was doing a cannonball. He sailed over, then hit the ground running. Behind him, Juicy cried out. He looked back, and she was rolling on the ground like a turtle on its back. His pace slowed...and when she cried out again, it stopped entirely.

"MY ANKLE! MAMA JUICY DONE BROKE HER ANKLE!"

She sounded like she was hurt.

Fuck her.

Then she started crying, her body shaking like Jello on a pan.

Sigh.

He couldn't just leave her like that. He was a lot of shit, but heartless wasn't one of them.

Hanging his head, he walked around blanket couple (both of whom looked from him to Juicy and back again) and started for her. She was still rolling, still blubbering. "Mama Juicy walking days are over!"

Don't be so dramatic.

He slowed as he came up beside her. Her eyes were squeezed closed and her mouth was screwed up in pain. She looked pitiful, and despite her being a fucking rapist, Lemy felt sorry for her. "Hey," he said hesitantly, "y-you alright?" He took a step forward...and Juicy struck: Moving with shocking speed and fluidity, she reached up, snatched him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him on top of her. Lemy screamed and pinwheeled his arms, but he wasn't a bird and did not fly away; he landed on her, her stomach and breasts cushioning the fall. "Ha, got yo bitch ass," she said, "now give Mama Juicy that kiss."

"Get off me, bitch!" Lemy screamed and thrashed.

His crotch inadvertently rubbed against hers, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "Ummm, Mama Juicy like that."

Lemy didn't. He slapped the ground and tried to pull away from her grasp, but she was too strong. "Fighting make Mama Juicy even hotter."

Alright, no more Mr. Nice Guy. Sorry, everyone, but I'm gonna plow this bitch in her face. He balled his hand and pulled it back, but before he could throw a punch, someone called out. "Hey, fat bitch!"

Juicy's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, you, fatty, come here."

Growling, Juicy shoved Lemy aside and struggled to her feet. "Who the fuck said that?" she asked.

Taking that as his cue, Lemy jumped up and ran for his life. For a long, long time, Juicy's voice followed him. "Next time Imma fuck you, get yo dick ready!"

*Morgan Freeman voiceover* Sadly, his dick was not ready, and it never would be.

Ever.

* * *

Lacy sat on the edge of her bed and texted Lemy, her knees pressed together and a frown on her face: She'd been trying to get ahold of him for the past ten minutes but he wasn't answering, and she was starting to really worry. Like it or not, Lem, I'm about to come after you.

Where would he be, though? Remember, she didn't know shit about him except that he was into radios, cute, and…

She scrunched her lips to the side and looked up at Lupa, who was sitting Indian style on her bed, her head bowed over a notepad and a cigarette jutting from her thin lips. She knew Lemy. "Hey."

"Yeah?" she asked, the movement of her lips tapping ash onto her notepad; she brushed it away.

Lacy rubbed the back of her neck. "Where do you think...like...Lemy would go?"

For a moment Lupa made no sign that she heard the question, then she took the cigarette between her fore and middle fingers and turned her head. "What do you mean?"

With a shrug, Lacy said, "Like...where do you think he'd go when he's mad? Does he have a spot or something?"

She had a spot: It was a little grassy ridge overlooking the Royal River accessible only by a path through the forest on the southwest corner of the park. When she was upset or had a lot on her mind, she biked out there and sat in the shade of a big oak tree whose gnarled trunk was etched with hearts and declarations of love stretching back to the seventies. It was tranquil there, and she could never stay upset for long once she reached it.

Taking a long, thoughtful drag, Lupa slowly ticked her head from side to side. "I'm not sure," she said a length. "He's pretty deep, so he's probably walking around and fuming."

Deep? Like...in thought or something? She never really got that vibe from him. She didn't think he was dumb or anything (not really), but he didn't strike her as a deep thinker. He was all, "Hey, maaaan, let's bang our heads and smoke dope."

Wow, she really didn't know him.

She glanced down at the phone in her hand. Still no reply. Sighing, she got to her feet and went into the hall, resolved to find him. She started down the stairs, and met Lyra coming up. "Hey," Lyra said, "you texted Lemy?"

"Yeah. He didn't text back."

The older girl held up a cellphone. "This is why."

It was his.

"I'm going after him," Lacy said and brushed past.

"I'll come with you," Lyra said, and for some reason, that made Lacy flinch.

She started to tell her sister that she worked better alone, but she was already gone, presumably to her room or something. Lacy's hands balled into fists and a metaphorical curl of steam rose from the top of her head. She didn't want Lyra tagging along, she wanted to find Lemy herself. This was most likely her fault, so it was up to her to fix it. If Joan Jett came along, Lemy would go to her instead, because they were closer, and Lacy wanted Lemy to come to her. She pictured sitting with him under her tree, talking, apologizing, getting to him better, cupping his cheek in her hand, gazing deeply into his soft brown eyes…

Her heart and stomach were both aching now, and she rushed down the stairs to outrun those thoughts, but they came with her. Outside, she crossed to the garage, the fingers of her right hand drumming against her outer thigh. Her lips were pursed and her brow was knitted, her pale brown ponytail swishing in determination. Her mind raced, and something - something like revelation - scratched at the edges of her consciousness. She wasn't blind, she could see it from the corner of her eye, but she couldn't acknowledge it because...reasons, that's all.

Reasons.

In the garage, she grabbed her bike from its spot against the wall and walked it into the driveway just as Lyra walked over. "We should split up," she said as Lacy mounted the bike.

"Sure," Lacy said absently and mounted. At the sidewalk, she hung an aimless right, her body bending over the handlebars and her legs pumping; the dry summer air pushed against her face and fluttered her hair, but she didn't notice...she was deep in thought, fighting tooth and nail against a thousand conflicting emotions and ideas. She wasn't dumb, she knew what she was feeling, and had known (or at least suspected) for a couple weeks.

Oh, she never noticed his muscular arms and jaw before today. That was bullshit. She'd noticed plenty, she just took in one ear and pushed it out the other, so to speak. She l -

No. It isn't so until you speak it, so let's not speak it, okay? Just find your brother and be a good sister...nothing more…

Yeah. You have a lot of time to make up for.

See, when you get right down to it, she was kind of the same way with her sisters as she was with Lemy...she didn't know them that well. She knew Lupa, but that's only because they were the same age and shared a bedroom. Kind of hard not to know someone under those circumstances. The others, though, were vague outlines: Leia the snotty, money-grubbing brat; Lyra the rocker; Loan the anxious geek or whatever; Liby the Nancy Drew wannabe. They might as well be two dimensional cartoon characters to her...or more...the non canon fanfic 'children' of cartoon characters.

Even so...not knowing Liena or Liby very well didn't bother her that much...not knowing Lemy did because…

Ugh.

She needed time to think and be alone.

I hope Lyra finds him first, she thought to herself, because if I do...I might do something I'll regret.

Presently, she was sailing across the street and through a wrought iron archway with COATES PARK on it. A concrete path twisted past playgrounds, benches, fountains, and picnic tables. Kids swung and played tag; an old man in a newsboy cap tossed bread crumbs to a quaking flock of ducks; and a pond choked with lily pads reflected the light of the sun. She veered off the trail and crossed a grassy field to a stand of trees. Jumping off, she walked the bike over to an elm and leaned it against the trunk. She'd go to her spot, take a breather, and then find Lemy; her stomach clinched sickly and her heart jagged.

Cut it out, Loud, you're being dumb.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts and started through the forest. Yeah, she was, and she didn't know why. It was...sudden and confusing. She had only ever felt like this for her -

"Hey, fuck face!" a husky voice sang out. Lacy glanced to her right, and through a screen of trees she saw a massive girl in purple sweatpants waddling toward…

Lemy!

He was facing away from her, but she could tell from his tensed posture that he wasn't exactly excited to see...whatever that was. Lacy went to the trunk of an oak and leaned against it, her heart aching as her eyes darted from Lemy's feet to his head. His fists were balled and the muscles of his arms strained through his tanned flesh. Ooooh, he was toned.

Fat Girl lumbered at the speed of diabetes, one flabby arm waving. "Come give Mama Juicy a kiss!"

Lacy's eyes narrowed to slits.

At those words, Lemy broke and ran with surprising speed. Lacy blinked. Wow, impressive. That fat bitch will never catch him.

"Yo!" tubby cried. "Boi, bring yo' ass here! Imma love up on you!"

Oh, no you fuckng aren't.

Lemy wailed in terror and ran even faster, heading straight for a man and a woman stretched out on a blanket. Lacy watched with the pulse pounding excitement she only got from sports. She leaned forward, her eyes wide and her teeth bared in a competitive grimace. Go right! Go left! No, right!

He was closing in...he was gonna trip...he…

...leapt into the air like a fucking frog, sailed over, then hit the ground running. Holy shit! Way to go, Lemy!

Fatso screamed, and Lacy looked over. She was lying on the ground and rolling back and forth. "MY ANKLE! MAMA JUICY DONE BROKE HER ANKLE!"

Ha! Let's see you love up on my brother now, bitch.

When she turned back to Lemy, her smile dropped a little. He was standing still and staring at Mama Juicy with a pained expression on his face. When Mama Juicy started crying, he hung his head and slumped his shoulders. Go on, run, leave the bitch.

Instead...he went back.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

(he's going back for her)

STOP!

(*sigh* that's so sweet)

DUMBASS!

(kind, caring…just like Dad)

He was standing over the fallen giant now, reaching one hand out. She popped up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled hm on top of her; his arms pinwheeled and he cried out as he fell. Lacy jumped...then fury filled her.

"Ha, got yo bitch ass. Now give Mama Juicy that kiss."

NO, GODDAMN IT!

She started to run out there, but stopped herself. She couldn't whip her ass like that...it might make it look like she had a crush on Lemy or something.

Lemy was yelling and flailing his arms. She had to do something, though.

An idea struck her. She cupped her hands to her mouth and deepened her voice. "Hey, fat bitch!"

The struggled ceased.

"Yeah, you, fatty, come here!"

Mama Juicy shoved Lemy away and got to her feet via her knees because she was too blubbery to do it any other way. Lemy jumped up and started running, much, much faster than before...looked like Usain Bolt and Forrest Gump's love child. Juicy spun in a circle looking for the culprit, then stared after Lemy. "Next time Imma fuck you, get yo dick ready!"

Lacy's nails dug deeply into her palm. No you're not. His virginity is m

Man, fuck this! Lemy threw a quick jab at nothing and kicked the same. He was walking along a narrow dirt path through a dense stand of trees flanking the riverbank; if he was so inclined, he could look to his right and catch flashes of it between the trees, but he wasn't...he wasn't inclined to do shit but go home, crawl in bed, and pull the covers over his head. He wanted to forget this day ever happened...just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Noticing a trend yet? He was, and something fucking told him it was going to continue ad in-fucking-finitum. You know what they say, right? A body in motion tends to stay in motion. His body was in motion...his fucking life was in motion...like a loser falling from a one hundredth story window. Is it gonna stop? Nope. The whole time that poor SOB's dropping, right up to the moment he splashes against the pavement, he's expecting to be saved, and if life was a movie, he would be; Superman would swoop in at the very last minute and catch him. Only life isn't a movie; there's no salvation at the end, you hit that fucking sidewalk and blow up like a meat-filled balloon for all to see.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe that was a little dramatic, but he was in a bad mood, leave him alone.

Wonder how it's going to get worse this time? Am I gonna sprain my ankle? Am I gonna get swarmed with penis-eating locust? Am I gonna…?

"Hey, wait up!"

He came to a crashing halt, his feet shuffling and kicking up a choking cloud of dirt. He turned, and Lacy was hurrying down the sun-dappled path, her face flushed with heat and her upper lip covered in fat beads of sweat. Gross...but given the chance he'd lick them off and ask for more.

Ah, man, please leave me alone.

"Damn, you run fast," she panted.

Yeah, you like? Here's some more. He turned and started to walk away. Virgin loser out.

"Lemy!" she called. "Stop!"

Nope. Not gonna happen.

"Lemy, please."

The plaintive edge in her voice slowed him down, he'd give her that, but it didn't stop him entirely.

"Come on, Lem, please?"

The pleading...that's what did it. He stopped and hung his head. Didn't he just do this shit? He felt bad for Juicy and BOOM, stabbed in the back. Why would this be any different? Was he dumb? Ha, do I have to ask? Yes, I am dumb.

Lacy came up beside him and bent at the waist, her hands clasping her knobby knees. "You should play football," she huffed, "they'd never catch your ass."

"What do you want?" Lemy asked tighty.

She sucked a great gulp of air and stood up straight. "I wanted to see what's wrong; you stormed out of the house and before that...you looked upset."

Lemy considered his reply carefully. His first thought was to say Yeah, I am upset, but that'd be a waste of breath, and with global warming, clean air isn't something you should piss away. I'm a virgin loser, remember? Why the hell would I even think about talking to you of all people? You'd just call me names or, best case scenario, offer me empty, bullshit 'advice' like a half-baked Dear Abby. Sorry, sis, I'll pass.

He stole a sidelong glance at her face; her features were drawn and her eyes were filled with concern.

"Nothing," he said and started down the path again, "nothing's wrong."

Lacy hurried to keep up. "Yes it is. You've been acting really weird the past couple of days and this morning you…" she trailed off, and Lemy's eyes slid in her direction. I what? Threw a bitch fit? Sulked out like a little girl? Made an ass of myself?... "looked so sad." Her voice was soft with a strain of misery that surprised him. She reached out and touched his arm, her fingers grazing his shirt. "What's wrong?" she asked soberly, beseechingly.

Lemy pursed his lips and collected his thoughts. He wanted to tell someone..wanted it all out and off his chest, this dark, fucking bullshit weight, but opening himself, exposing himself, laying bare his thoughts and feelings, his depression, his rage, his all, like a pink, quivering nerve…

That was scary as fuck.

When her fingers caressed his face, his heart skipped a beat. He lifted his eyes and they locked with hers; they were the most beautiful shade of green he had ever seen, and flecked with gold and brown. "Please," she said, and her pupils dilated with ernesty.

It might be a cliche to compare a chick's eyes to pools and talk about falling in, but that's exactly how Lemy felt right now; like he was falling.

"Alright," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes flicked away, and she nodded over his shoulder. "Let's sit." She took her hand away from his cheek, and he instantly missed her warmth, her touch. She went over to a tree and sat in the dirt. Lemy stood where he was, his heart racing and his stomach sick.

I'm setting myself up for failure like I did last night; I don't wanna do that again...I don't wanna feel the way I felt then, man, I really don't. It was like she ripped my heart out of my chest, flung it to the ground, and stomped it into mush. Maybe it was partly my fault for thinking she'd actually sleep with me, but I never wanna feel that way again.

Lacy was watching him with a troubled expression. "Come here," she said and patted the ground next to her; dust puffed up and dispersed on a warm breeze.

Part of him wanted to, and part of him didn't. One wasn't bigger than the other, they were the same size, a devil on one shoulder an an angel on the other. The devil leaned into his ear and whispered seductive things: Go to her, bro, she's totally gonna do you. And if she doesn't...take it from her. The angel tugged his earlobe, and when Lemy turned, it shook its head. Don't listen to him, dude, he's so full of shit his eyes are brown. Go home, smoke a jay, and chill with that woe-is-me shit.

Of all the bands Lemy liked, he liked AC/DC the most, and as he crossed to Lacy, a line from the song Rock and Roll Singer came to him: I got the devil in my blood/tellin' me what to do...and I'm all ears.

Maybe he was a masochist. Who knows?

He sat heavily and drew his knees to his chest. Lacy drew her legs criss-cross-applesauce and turned to him, the corners of her lips turned slightly down. "What's wrong, Lemy?" she asked. The sound of his name on her lips, in her gentle tone, made him tingle. He reluctantly turned his head to her, and she smiled tightly. "I know opening up isn't...easy...but...I wanna help."

A sun ray fell across her face, and in that moment she was the most beautiful thing Lemy had ever seen. His heart crushed and his mouth went drier than a ninety-year-old woman's pussy. He tried to lock with her sparkling green eyes, but couldn't, and glanced away with a flush. She was ethereal, man, angelic, so achingly exquisite and divine that looking at her hurt.

He wanted her so badly...he wanted to touch her and kiss her and play with her hair and stare lovingly into her eyes...and have her stare lovingly into his.

She laid her hand on his leg, and an electric shotgun blast of sensation exploded in his stomach; he sucked a deep, reflexive gulp of air and let it out in a shivery rush.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," she said, "I'm your sister and I love you."

Those last three words stabbed him in the stomach like a samurai sword, even though he knew she meant she loved him as a sister and nothing more. Bummer...kind of; it was good to know she felt at least that.

"I just…" he started but trailed off. Sighing, he shook his head. He couldn't expose his vulnerability, not to anyone but especially not to Lacy. "I don't know," he said.

She scooted closer, her knee pressing against his leg. Her fingers brushed his cheeks, and he closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. She was so close he could feel her short, hot exhalations on his neck; they matched his own.

His heart was blasting and his body trembled. He twitched his head to the side, and Lacy filled the world: Her eyes, green and shimmering like limpid pools [too cliche, delete before publishing], her quivering pink lips, the constellations of freckles smattered across her proud yet delicate cheeks.

They eyes met and held; gazing deeply, intently. Her exhalations puffed against his mouth; he could taste her breath...sweet, warm, intoxicating. He was dizzy, hot, sweating, shaky. Her fleeting fingers caressed his face, and he gave himself over to instinct, leaning into her, his eyes never leaving hers.

She leaned forward too...slowly, hesitantly...then their lips met. For a moment neither moved...sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat...then Lemy's tongue slipped into her mouth, and she accepted it by flicking it with her own; her nails dug lightly into his flesh, then her hand went slack when he cupped her cheek in his hand and deepened the kiss.

Her taste filled his mouth, her tongue grappled with his, her lips worked against his lips, his passion rose and his dick swelled like Popeye after choking down a can of spinach. He threaded his fingers into her soft hair and she stroked his cheek, her tongue massaging his. She pushed into him and he into her; their teeth scraped together, and suddenly she was pushing him away, her chest heaving and her eyes muddled with something...something like regret.

"I shouldn't have done that," she said more to herself than to him; who it was directed at didn't matter, though, it still hit him like a bullet, ripping through the warm haze that surrounded him and letting in the cold of his bullshit life.

Lacy turned and her hands went to her head. "Ohhh, I shouldn't have done that."

"W-Why?" Lemy asked. His voice sounded needy and wounded even to his own ears, but he didn't give a fuck; his heart was crashing, his dick was aching, he was fevered and shaky, the sweet taste of his sister's mouth lingered on his lips...and she was rejecting him, just like all the others. "Is it me?"

"No!" she said quickly and half turned, one hand flying up. Her face was ashen save for a scarlet blush across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "I-I-It's not, it's me, I…"

Understanding flooded through him like a cheap beer through a redneck, and his eyes narrowed. "It's Dad. Isn't it?"

Lacy looked away, her eyes closing and her lips pursing. She didn't reply, but she didn't have to; it was all over her face. She was just like the others...slavishly obsessed with that white hair, cowlick having scumbag motherfucker. Searing fury filled Lemy's chest; his lips peeled back from his teeth in an ugly grimace, his hand clenched into fists so tight his arm muscles strained, and tears - tears of rage, shame, self-loathing, hatred, and plain old sadness - welled in his eyes. "Lemy," Lacy said and reached for him, but he jumped to his feet with a sound of disgust and pounded off. Fuck this shit, I'm done.

"Lemy!" Lacy called after him, but he didn't stop, and wouldn't have wanted to even if he was able; he was crying now, and he wouldn't show her...he wouldn't show any of them.

When he was gone, Lacy fell dejectedly back against the tree trunk and drew her knees to her chest. She could still taste him in her mouth, still feel the tender warmth from his hand on her cheek...still feel the slick heat of desire pooling between her legs.

She also felt shame. Shame for cheating on Dad, and shame for hurting Lemy.

Way to go, blockhead, you made it even worse.

Tears burst from her eyes, and she hung her head to weep; the hitching, miserable sound of her sobbing resounded through the peaceful glen for a long, long time.


	6. It's Always Something

**Lyrics to Freak on a Leash by Korn (1998)**

Camouflage

[kam-uh-flahzh]

Noun

The disguising of something by painting or covering them to make them blend in with their surroundings.

Liby Loud's camouflage was her winsome smile, upbeat personality, and adorable appearance. She was tall and gangly with braces, an overbite that made her look like a cute cartoon chipmunk, braces, big, sparkling eyes, and a ponytail that swished like a tail when she walked. She typically wore skirts, sleeveless blouses with a tie, and baggy socks pulled up her calves - they crept lower and lower with every step she took, and every so often she would have to stop and adjust them. If you saw her coming down the street, you'd think she was a bonny schoolgirl who hadn't yet discovered the fact that boys aren't icky after all.

But you'd be wrong. Dead wrong.

She was the mystery girl, an eccentric super sleuth with sharp wits, iron-clad resolve, and the toughness of a seven foot tall Russian oilman. She'd been behind the 8 ball a thousand times over the years, and she never panicked, never lost her cool, and always, always made a clean sneak.

This, though...this was different.

Presently, she was biking up Main Street, a pink bag on her back and a faraway expression on her face. The hot August wind blew through her reddish brown hair, and her ponytail streamed behind her like a banner. She was pedalling much faster than usual, her thin getaway sticks pumping furiously and her knees occasionally knocking against the handle bars; the bike was a size too small for her, but she couldn't bring herself to part with it. They had been through a lot together: Once, a mobster tossed the both of them into the trunk of a boat-sized Cadillac (you could fit three bodies in there). Another time she used it to outrun a gang of jewel thieves , zipping this way and that through alleys and side streets before giving them the slip by hiding under a bridge...in the water (she could hold her breath for a long time). She wasn't an overly sentimental girl, but this bike was her partner, and she'd keep it in service for as long as possible.

She took a sharp right onto Harris Blvd and hugged the curb to let traffic pass. Someone in a blue SUV honked their horn as they zoomed by, and she flipped them off. You can always go around, jerk. Ahead, the street passed under an overpass bearing four lanes of I-75. She swerved around a stalled car on instinct alone; her mind was on other matters. Many other matters, actually. One was the case she was currently working. It was...interesting, to say the least...simple but interesting.

A man calling himself James called her office line from Palm Springs the previous afternoon asking her to gather evidence on one Father Thomas O'Leary, a Catholic priest with a taste for diddling altar boys before Sunday Mass. James accused O'Leary of molesting him in 2015 but kept silent because O'Leary threatened him with hell.

What made this case so interesting was the fact that O'Leary didn't even try to hide his sinful lust: She followed him for three hours today as he ran errands, and in that time he approached a dozen boys in a pedophlic manner. Seriously, the man was so open with his perversion that Liby was shocked...and shocking Liby Loud is no easy task. At one point, he whipped his erect penis out and chased a young boy for nearly a block yelling "Touch my crosier!" Later, he took off his shirt in front of a gang of boys playing baseball and asked, "Does this turn you on?" After that, he walked around bare chested, his white Roman collar wrapped around his neck and his admittedly impressive pecs glistening in the sun. He walked with an exaggerated swagger, his arms swinging back and forth, and whenever a little boy passed, he stopped, looked over his shoulder, and unashamedly admired them. If he found them particularly stimulating, he would lift his fist to his mouth and bite his knuckle.

She...she had no words. How was this gink able to operate? She could kind of understand someone getting away for years and years while doing...that...in the dark, but he was practically raping boys in broad daylight!

Something told her he was greasing the wheels of justice, if ya know what I mean.

Bribing someone.

The police in Royal Woods were crooked as hell - Sheriff Wilson answered to Fat Tony, the boss of the Chicago Outfit, whose territory grew to include Detroit when the Caramazza Family lost influence in the eighties and nineties. She knew a lot of buttons on the force and they were good eggs, but a lot of them weren't and would gladly look the other way for a head of cabbage. Father O'Leary must be paying someone off, and if she followed the trail she knew darn well it'd lead right back to the clubhouse and to Sheriff Wilson himself. Part of her wanted to - she'd been trying to bump him off his throne for years - but there was something else on her mind, something just a little more important than seeing that flatfoot up the river.

She swung right onto Franklin Ave. The house was up ahead on the left; she crossed the street and followed the sidewalk.

Liby Loud might be the best gumshoe in Royal County, but that didn't keep her from being a girl above all else, and right now, as much as she didn't care to admit it, she was dizzy with a dude. She -

A red ball bounced onto the sidewalk, and Lizy darted after. Liby's heart jumped into her throat, and she applied the brakes, hard, leaning left and skidding. Lizy's head jerked up just as the back tire came to rest bare inches from her little knee high mush. Her peepers were big and her jaw was slack. Liby fought to catch her breath. "Ya almost got pooped, kid."

Lizy blinked. "Huh?"

"Bopped."

The little girl's brow knitted. "What?"

Liby made a circular gesture with her hand. "You know, 86'd, rubbed out, zotzed, bopped."

Lizy looked at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears, and that's when she realized she was speaking noir again. "Killed," she clarified.

"Riiiiight," Lizy drew. She snatched her ball and went back into the yard, her suspicious gaze never leaving Liby.

One of the things Liby loved most in the world was noir cinema. She was two (or maybe it was three) when she first saw The Big Sleep, and from there forget about it; mysteries, toughs, P.I.s, and detectives were her Disney princesses, and for the longest time, Bogart was her prince. In fact, a Bogart picture was the first thing she masturbated to. She was eight, alone in the living room after everyone else had gone to bed, and Bogart's mug was making her real hot under the collar - her bean started to throb and when she pressed her finger against it, toe-curling pleasure exploded through her.

Bogart still held a special place in her heart, but now…

She climbed off the bike, walked it up the driveway, and stowed it in the garage. Inside, she went upstairs and into her room, where she unshouldered the backpack and dropped it onto the bed. She unzipped it, reached in, and felt around, her tongue plastered to her upper lip in concentration. Her fingers brushed across cold steel, and she pulled out her piece: A pink Ruger LCP 308 just big enough to fit into the slender hand of a fourteen-year-old girl. She kept her bag stocked and fully loaded at all times, but with little siblings running around, the gun went into the safe every time, and she always made sure no one was around when she did it because she was just a little embarrassed that her heat was pink. She didn't make a business of advertising it, but she liked girly things just as much as the next dame. She didn't always, but then she was working a case where she had to infiltrate a beauty pageant to put the stops on a child sex trafficking ring, and...well, all dolled up on stage, with everyone looking at her and clapping, she felt pretty...and feeling pretty is nice.

The gun was a gift from her father, and she'd put it to good use many, many times since she opened it on Christmas morning: She shot a goon in the shin; broke a Mexican standoff in the favor of the good guys; and shot a pistol from the hand of a mobster holding an undercover dick on the rails. It was a total lifesaver.

Kneeling next to her bed, she pushed the cover back, revealing the face of a titanium-coated safe with a digital keypad on the face. She punched in the code, opened the door, and shoved the gun in. She went to close it up again, but her eyes fell on something else, and her heartbeat sped up. She looked over her shoulder as if expecting Lyra to be there, but she wasn't.

Getting up, she went to the door, laid her hand on the frame, and looked into the hall, her head turning both ways like she was about to cross the street. She didn't see anyone, but she could hear loud music coming from Lupa and Lacy's room; the door was closed and the smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.

Drawing back into the room, Liby shut the door and licked her suddenly dry lips. She kicked out of her shoes, knelt, and took her new favorite thing out of the safe. She held it in her hands and scrunched her shoulders in an absent display of affection, a big, hazy smile crossing her ips and a fiery light igniting in her eyes. She carried it over to the TV on her dresser, slipped it in, and pressed PLAY. On her way over to the bed, she slipped her hands under her skirt, hooked her thumbs into her panties, and pulled them down as she went, stepping out of them and crawling under the covers. She drew herself to a sitting position and spread her legs, her heels digging into the mattress and her core quivering hotly. You're going to play with me?

Ummm, yes I am.

Onscreen, an image appeared.

Lemy lying on his back. He was wearing tight black boxer shorts that clung tightly to his raging bulge. Liby's heart staggered like a gowed-up goose on his way home from a speakeasy and her core pinched as her arousal grew. She licked her lips again and brushed her teeth across her bottom lip as she trailed her hand down her trembling stomach, her fingertips rubbing lazy circles against her flesh and sending sparks into her rapidly slickening center.

Lemy was staring up at the ceiling with a troubled expression on his face, his hands laced over his bare, toned chest. Liby hummed appreciatively in the back of her throat; her fingers were moving over her pubic mound now. She stroked it slowly, deeply, like a cat, and her pussy pooled with moisture.

In TV land, Lemy sighed, the cutest expression of annoyance crossing face. He pushed his boxers down, and when his hard dick sprang out, Liby's heart blasted...as it did every time she watched this video. He leaned over the edge of the bed and came back with a sock, which he slipped over his throbbing member.

She was grazing her middle finger between her folds, her body's essence burning like hot oil. Her breathing was quickly becoming ragged, and her throat was dry. She swallowed with an audible click.

Lemy was stroking himself slowly, his eyes closed and his lips pressed tightly together. Liby couldn't say why, but his dick being covered like that...not being able to see it but knowing that it was there...burning with heat, leaking with passion...drove her wild. She closed her own eyes and imagined wrapping her fingers around him and moving the sock upppppp then dooooooowwwwwnnnnn, her eyes locked with his, his smell in her nose, him seeing her blushing and getting hotter and hotter until she finally yanked it off, climbed into his lap, and settled herself slowly onto him…her middle finger found her pulsing nub and began to knead. Her face was entirely red now and her eyelids fluttering; her breathing was short and her hips rocked unconsciously into her hand. She opened her murky eyes and focused on Lemy's face; his eyes were open and narrowed as his orgasm formed deep in his balls. She licked her lips again and rubbed faster. Her climax was building like steam in a boiler...and, buddy, the release valve was busted; the pressure would rise and rise until…

Lemy moaned and his hips shot forward as he blew his load. Liby's own eyes narrowed as the pressure burst and flooded her body with toe-curling ecstasy; she tossed her head back and gasped her brother's name, biting her lower lip hard to keep from screaming louder. Oooh,, but she wanted to...she wanted to cry his name at the top of her lungs as his dick swelled inside of her, as it twitched and spurted its rich, creamy seed deep into the chambers of her womb; she wanted everyone to hear her and know she was having sex with him...hot, dirty, passionate, mind-bending sex.

She came down from her high slowly, reluctantly,, aftershocks tapering off until she was back from Eden and sitting alone in her bed with the cover over her lap.

When Lupa spoke, she jumped and nearly fell onto the floor. "Lemy, huh?"

Sneaking up on The Mystery Girl is a dangerous proposition. Once, a detective from the Detroit P.D. she was working a case with made the mistake of coming up behind her while they were investigated an abandoned building where a smuggling ring stored its excess drugs: She spun and punched him so hard in the stomach he literally shit himself. Lupa wasn't within striking distance, but if she was, Liby would probably have killed her. Instead, she let out a cry of surprise and whipped her head around; the younger girl was leaning back against the dresser, her arms crossed and a cigarette between the fore and middle fingers of her right hand. Her face was the same as it always was: Flat, impassive, as unreadable as Chinese chicken scratch.

"What are you doing?"

Lupa shrugged. "Flagg needed me to catch you knuckles deep in your crotch but couldn't think of a reason for me to come in here so...here I am."

Swallowing hard, Liby put on her best poker face - the one she used during her undercover work in the Triad; you wouldn't know it by looking at her, but she was so embarrassed at being caught with her pants down that she could die. "How much did you see?" she asked evenly.

Lupa took a hit of her smoke. "Enough to know that you were thinking of Lemy when you blew your girl load."

So...too much. Liby reached for the gun…

I'm joking; she sighed, knitted brow in an expression that was supposed to be intimidating but came off as d'awwww instead, and jabbed a finger at her younger sister. "Not a word."

Lupa held up her hands as if to say not me.

"Now if you'll ex -"

Lupa cut her off. "Lemy, huh?"

Liby glared at her sister, her nostrils flaring as they often did when she was irritated: Dad said it was cute, and when you're agitated, the last thing you want is to be called cute. Now if Lemy said it was cute...well, she wouldn't mind. In fact, she'd probably giggle stupidly. Lupa returned her gaze, unflinching, unfaltering, her features as dour and and dull as ever. "Yes," Liby said, "Lemy." Her tone, on the other hand, said Say something, I dare you.

"Hm."

"Is that okay with you?" Liby asked sarcastically.

Drag. Puff. Smoke cloud. "I don't care." She cupped her left hand and tipped her ash into her palm. "Do you like him...or do you just think he's hot?"

Liby's eyes narrowed. It was her experience that when someone pumped you for information, they planned to use it somehow. She did it herself: Once she spent nearly two hours talking to a prostitute on a street corner about this, that, and the other thing in hopes of gathering enough info to bring down her pimp, Gold Cock. Had it been any one of her other sisters, Liby wouldn't be so suspicious, but Lupa was a loner, withdrawn, largely unconcerned with what was going on around her. She wasn't the type to bump gums. "Why do you care?"

"I'm just curious," she said.

For a long moment, Liby considered her response. She knew what she felt in her heart (ummm and elsewhere), but she didn't know if she wanted to tell someone else about it; once something was out, it became somehow real, and she was in no hurry to dispell the warm, perfect, loving fantasy world she had created for herself.

In her mind, she flipped a coin: Heads I'll be honest, tails I'll fib a little. It flipped into the air, spinning end over end, and then landed on the floor. Heads.

How in the name of God it came up heads when she was biased in favor of tails was beyond her, but she was a woman of her word.

"I like him," she said, and her eyes darted anxiously away, "I like him a lot."

Lupa hummed her interest. "When did that happen?"

Liby started to answer - when I first saw that yummy, cum-inducing video - but she stopped. Truth be told, she couldn't really say. She'd always had a special love for her little brother - he was sweet and thoughtful and fun and cute and was always there for her when everyone else was too busy, even Dad. He also genuinely cared about her - whenever she came home from a case covered in scrapes and bruises, he was right at her side oh, shit, let's get you cleaned up. His eyes were the softest, deepest brown she had ever seen and when he looked at her she felt giggly and weak in the knees - not that she ever let on, mind you. A good detective keeps her feelings under wraps.

She felt the first faint flutter of infatuation at some point earlier in the summer...she couldn't say when exactly, only that as June turned into July she found herself making excuses to be around him...and thinking about him with keen longing when she wasn't. She tried to con herself like a flogger pinned fakeloo artist because...well, she'd never felt this way before, not even about her father, and it kind of scared her. She loved Dad and she really liked spending time with him, but just sitting on the couch when he was at work and thinking of him didn't make her feel like she had butterflies in her gut. Doing the same with Lemy did.

When she watched the video for the first time, the little dam she'd erected to hold back her feelings burst and a tidal wave of I'm-in-love-with-Lemy saturated her heart. Since then, he'd been on her mind nonstop, and she ached - literally and sickly ached - to hold his hand, kiss his lips...and fuck his brains out.

"A while," she said simply.

Lupa nodded slowly. "You should go go for it. Tell him how you feel."

Is there a word for when your heart drops and your eyes widen simultaneously? If so, go ahead and insert it here. Liby Loud weren't no daisy - when it came to being tough, she was the high pillow. She could take a blackjack to the head (and had, more than once); she could stand to be hung upside down from a meathook by a team of goons; she could even tolerate being made by a button man looking to burn a little powder at her expense...but tough or not, at her core, she was still a fourteen-year-old girl head over heels in love, and when you're a fourteen-year-old girl in love, approaching your crush is the most terrifying thing in the world. She'd rather be marched out into the woods, forced to kneel in front of a grave, and have a gun jammed to the back of her head (again); she'd rather be tied up, thrown into the trunk of a car, and pushed into the river (for the third time); she'd even rather have two math tests back to back followed by IRS paperwork *shiver*

God, what if he didn't like her back? What if he thought Loudcest was gross? What if she got her hopes up only to have them dashed on the jagged rocks of rejection? Her heart pounded painfully at the prospect and she was beginning to hyperventilate. Lupa noticed and lifted a questioning brow. "You really shouldn't' stress," she said, "he's a good guy, and if you just tell him…who knows?"

"That's just it," Liby said; she slipped her hands out from under the blanket and slapped them into her lap. "Who knows what'll happen? He might not want me." Her voice quivered pitifully on the last word, and she winced. She may not have been a daisy, but she sure sounded like one.

Lupa took a puff of her cigarette, tilted her head back, and blew it out. "Well...I'll say this: You're attractive, intelligent, and your unfailingly perky attitude, while often mind numbing, can be endearing." Liby looked up at her sister, hope in her eyes, and Lupa flashed a wan smile; it wasn't very big and you'd miss it if you blinked, but he was something, and Liby returned it.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Lupa said and pushed away from the dresser. "If you want to talk more, I'm willing."

Liby nodded. "Okay."

With that, Lupa left, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Liby's eyes were drawn to the screen, where Lemy was asleep now, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. A lovestruck smile spread across her face and her heart did that crazy pitter-patter thing only he could make it do.

Should she tell him? On the one hand, if he was into her, they could be together...and oh my god that made her feel crazy good. On the other, if he wasn't and told her to fuck off, she'd be so devastated that she'd give the Ruger a blowie and top herself. Pro, con, pro, con, which outweighs the other? They were opposite ends of an extreme, a teeter totter that would either lift her to the heavens..or send her crashing back to earth. Was the greatest happiness she could imagine worth risking the darkest sadness she would ever know?

Her heart said go, but her head said no.

Just this once, she decided to listen to her heart.

* * *

They say the stars that burn brightest burn out the fastest - or something like that. Lemy's rage went supernova as he slammed out of the woods, and by the time he stomped across the meadow between the treeline and the street, it was gone, cold emptiness in its place. He ran the encounter with Lacy through his mind again and again.

Dad.

It was always Dad.

I oughta set that dude on fire; let me catch you snoozing in your Lazy-Boy, you piece of shit...Imma dump light fluid in your lap and spark a match. If I'm lucky his dick will burn off and my hour will come 'round at last, like Yeats's rough beast.

Yeah. Right. Knowing my luck I'll burn my dick off too, and when we're in the hospital, they'll all visit him but not me because Daddy is, like, the best, and Lemy is yucky and we don't love him. Granted, they might not visit him since, you know, he tried to murder their father, but still. If something else happened...say he and Dad were in a car crash...you know where this is going, do I really have to think it all the way through? They'd cluster around him, they'd love and encourage and support him...meanwhile I'd be alone in my body cast with no one, unloved, unwanted, and uncared about.

Another day at the office, in other words.

Was she being serious, though? About it being Dad? I mean, it looked that way, but...maybe it was me. Maybe she had a brain fart or a momentary lapse of reason. As soon as she came to her wits: Ew, God, I'm kissing Lemy, gross. She came after me, right? That means she was being honest about wanting to know what was wrong. Great. The kiss, though...maybe she got carried away? Maybe to her it was like kissing a boo boo? I don't fucking know, man, I just don't. I shouldn't have done that...it's not you it's me. That's the oldest line in the book...when someone says it, the implication is always that it really is the other person, you know?

By this point he was on Main Street, three blocks away from Franklin. His plan was simple: Smoke pot, listen to music, and self-loathe. God, I'm pathetic. If someone made a 'who would win in a fight' tier graph, I'd be second to last on the weakest row, before Flip and after Lamp. If it was an arcade game, only smartasses would choose me. Hey, watch me get my ass kicked with this bandana wearing POS. LOL. You know what, though?

He didn't care.

He hurt so fucking bad her could barely breathe, and if a man can't burn one and pity himself in the privacy of his own bedroom after having his heart ripped out by one girl, shit on by another, and tread into dust by another still, what's the point in even getting up in the morning?

Call me a bitch, I don't care because maybe I am...maybe I look like Axl Rose or something...but I'm really Elton John.

Pfft. I wish. People actually like Elton John, and something tells me he never gets so sexually frustrated he could cry and that he never, ever, ever feels like a worthless piece of garbage in his own home.

He was within sight of his street when someone called his name, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh, Jesus God, not this again.

And no...it wasn't Juicy.

He wished it was.

With a deep breath, he started walking again.

"Lemy! Wait!"

No, Lacy got me with that back at the park, it's not happening again. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

"Lemy!"

She was getting closer - he could see her hurrying to catch up: She wore little cutoff shorts that bared her long, equiste legs and a shirt that hugged the swell of her breasts. Her stomach was bare, her belly button ring catching and refracting an errant sunbeam. Long chestnut hair swished lightly across the small of her back like exploring fingers; bangs swept across her forehead; her eyes were purple shadowed and freckles were scattered across her cheeks. She was beautiful...and Lemy loved her.

But not enough to let her hurt him too. Lupa, Leina, and Lacy made three...he'd be damned if he'd let it become four. He quickened his step until he looked like a Nazi stormtrooper parading through the streets of Munich, legs kicked wide, arms swinging. Hey, fag, where's your bike? It's not me it's you; Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

He wasn't fast enough, though; Lyra was taller, and her legs (her beautiful fucking legs) were longer. She drew up beside him, her face red with heat and her chest heaving. "Hey," she said, "didn't you hear me?"

Lemy didn't reply. I heard you. I hear you in my sleep sometimes, too, when I dream I'm holding you and kissing the back of your neck; that doesn't mean shit and neither does this.

"Hey," she said, a little more firmly this time. Then, a pleading note crept in that would have given him pause two days ago. "Come on, man, what's wrong? Talk to me."

"No," he spat.

"Why?" She touched his arm.

He spun and pushed her hand away; she fell back a step, her eyes going wide with shock. "Leave me the fuck alone! I don't wanna see you, I don't wanna l-look at you...just fucking go away!" The words spewed forth like vomit. He was shaking, his fists at his sides and tears sliding down his cheeks. Lyra winced as if in pain, and his heart twinged. What could he do, though? Say he was sorry? Let her in just to get hurt by yet another sister?

With an angry huff, he turned and started away; he could feel her gaze heavy on his back, but he didn't slow, didn't hesitate. Five minutes later, he walked through the front door and went up the stairs. People were on the couch, but in his periphery they were indistinct shapes, and he didn't care enough to turn his head to find out who they were.

In his room, he shut the door, crossed to the bed, and dropped with a sigh of defeat. Home sweet motherfucking home. He drew a deep, watery breath and looked around. Posters on the walls, crap on the dresser, crap on his desk - all junk just like him.

He leaned over, opened the top drawer, and took out the bag of weed and a pack of rolling papers. Next, he grabbed a wide hardback radio repair manual and balanced it on his lap like a little table.

As far as Lacy was concerned...he wasn't junk...just junk compared to Dad. He reached into the bag, pinched some of the herb between his thumb and forefinger, and sprinkled it onto a paper. I wish I was him. I really do. Not just because he gets to have them, gets to hold them and kiss them and know they love him, but because there was something about him...something Lemy apparently lacked. He didn't know what it was, but it must be really fucking important. He gripped the paper, brought it to his mouth, and licked it. Like...I don't know, something special, something people can sense. He's a good dude and everyone loves him, but me?

Goddamn it, I don't wanna be broken, I don't wanna be lacking...I wanna be like him. I wanna be a good dude too.

He wrapped the paper, then returned the book to the desk and the weed to the drawer. He took out a lighter, plopped the joint between his lips, and lit it, drawing the harsh smoke deep into his lungs and holding it. He let it out and coughed. He liked grass, man, he really did, but it tasted like shit, and it didn't smell much better. You know they sell incense that smell like pot when you burn them? I mean, I can take the smell when I'm smoking, but otherwise, miss me.

Gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, he took another hit. This one was smoother, the taste better. He held it longer than the first, then blew it out; a thick haze dance and whorled in the air, and he watched it dispassionately. Oh, right, he thought and glanced away, what the fuck am I thinking? Can't have a pity party without music.

And he had just the album.

He stuck the joint between his lips, got up, and crossed to the dresser. He wasn't kidding earlier, there was crap on it...lots and lots of crap. "Where are you?" he asked as he sifted through it. When he saw it, he let out a long, low "Yeaaaah," and picked it up.

He carried it over to the CD player and dropped it in, then pressed PLAY. He laid back on the bed and took another hit. Things were getting fuzzy and warm; the edges of his vision were all wavy, kind of like he was a sitcom character about to have a flashback. The music started to play, and it sounded kind of...dull, man, like his ears were stuffed full of wool.

_Something takes a part of me_

_Something lost and never seen_

_Every time I start to believe_

_Something's raped and taken from me from me_

_Life's gotta always be messing with me (You wanna see the light)_

_Can't they chill and let me be free (So do I)_

_Can't I take away all this pain (You wanna see the light)_

He took another hit and held it so long he almost forgot about it. Whoops. I know how it feels to be forgotten about, so I'm sorry.

_Sometimes I cannot take this place_

_Sometimes it's my life I can't taste_

_Sometimes I cannot feel my face_

_You'll never see me fall from grace_

_It's not you, it's me. It's Dad. Yeah, raped and taken from me. Heh._

_Something takes a part of me_

_You and I were meant to be_

_A cheap fuck for me to lay_

_Something takes a part of me_

He closed it eyes and let the music flow through him like a charthartic tide, his head nodding in agreement.

_Feeling like a freak on a leash (You wanna see the light)_

_Feeling like I have no release (So do I)_

_How many times have I felt diseased (You wanna see the light)_

_Nothing in my life is free, is free_

He saw Lacy in his mind: She was sitting in a fall of sunlight under a tree, her hair like fire and her knees dirty. Her big green eyes made his heart race, and her licked his lips slowly for any remaining trace of her mouth. She was way, way too good for him, man, they all were, all of them. They were all beautiful, all perfect in their own ways: Liena the caring mother; Loan the asshole tough guy with a secret heart of gold; Lyra so chill and fun; Liby cute and bubbly; Lacy so fucking determined and full of spunk; Lupa hard nosed and mysterious; Leia the princess in pigtails.

_And then there's me. What the fuck am I?_

_Sometimes I cannot take this place_

_Sometimes it's my life I can't taste_

_Sometimes I cannot feel my face_

_You'll never see me fall from grace_

Man, these guys really get it, you know? It's like they're talking to me. I guess I'm not alone. Someone out there does understand me. That might not be much, but do you know how good that shit feels when you're in pain?

Really fucking good.

He took another hit, then pinched it out between his thumb and forefinger: It burned, but the pain felt kinda nice.

_Something takes a part of me_

_You and I were meant to be_

_A cheap fuck for me to lay_

_Something takes a part of me_

He rolled onto his side, pulled the drawer open, and tossed the joint in, then settled onto his back and laced his hands behind his head.

Tomorrow's another day, and...I got the feeling I'm gonna make it.

I just need to…

…sleep on it.

* * *

Liby drummed her fingers on the desk and gazed sightlessly out the window, her lips a white slash. Her chin rested in her upturned palm, her legs were crossed (every once in a while she squeezed them together - nngh~), and her eyes swirled with murk...imagine silt and sand muddying a still pond, and you'll get what I'm going for. She drew a dreamy sigh and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of her: The top one was headed IRS.

When it came to politics, Liby described herself as 'nothing' but a lot of people would call her conservative because she mistrusted the government. She wasn't conservative, but she agreed with Reagan: The nine scariest words in the English language are I'm from the government and I'm here to help. She couldn't count the number of times she'd found a federal agent to be corrupt, on the take, a chisel man, or in someone's pocket. Once, she was working a box job case, and the can-opener wound up being the FBI field agent she was assisting. Another time, an ATF dick on the La Familia dole tied her up and tossed her in Lake Michigan - she barely got out of that one. These instances and others made her suspicious of Uncle Sam and his boys - how many of them do you think aren't bent? Working a state or local beat is one thing, but when you're a G-man who regularly deals with organized crime, large sums of money, and Congress slashing pay, the temptation to go bad is great indeed.

The IRS operated on the up-and-up, ostensibly, but they were still a bunch of gonif bastards. She should have saved herself some trouble and never registered Mystery Girl, LTD as a business...she should have keep on the down low.

What's done is done, though, and right now these papers needed doing before the tax men got the drop on her and filled MG LTD full of light. She shifted and uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again slowly (ummmmm). Picking up the pen, she started filling out the form, but her mind instantly began to drift.

To Lemy.

A faint smile played at the corners of her lips as she scanned a paragraph, the words going in, rattling around, then going out again without making their mark. She hoped he came home soon, she really wanted to see him...maybe even talk to him...about...you know.

Claws of anxiety raked the lining of her stomach, and her smile faded. She snapped the top form off with a crisp sound and started reading the next. She was going to do it, her mind was made up about that, but when? She wanted to hurry up and get it over with, but the longer she waited, the longer she could hold onto the happy possibility of him accepting her. If he didn't, she'd crash so hard it'd cut diamond, but for right now, this hour, this moment, she could hang onto maybe, and while pinging from afar isn't exactly fun, it's better than opening your heart to your crush and having him spit in it.

But not forever. Eventually, soon, she'd confess her feelings because if she didn't, she would never have him, and that wasn't jake. She had to try, even if it was scary, and even if the risk was her soul being shattered into a million pieces; the risk, after all, was well worth the reward: Lemy in her arms...in her bed...in her always.

That made her smile again. She finished the next form and sat it aside. I've earned a break, she thought as she scanned the next one in line. It was barely noon and if she really put her nose to the grindstone later, she'd be done before bed, so she could spare an hour or two. Then again, it was quite possible that if she talked to Lemy today, things would go so well that she wouldn't have time for tax work; who wants to interrupt pitching woo to work on IRS bullshit? Maybe some girls, but not her. Once she had him naked under her covers, everything else could go to hell.

Hmmm...as much as she wanted to stretch her legs and dip her bill, she should probably keep at it. Just in case ;)

Why was the tax code so damn complicated? Didn't Donald Trump say he was going to make it duck soup? Yeah, ha, that was years ago and here she was now, slaving over a stack of nonsense so thick you could knock a guy out with it.

She understood the point of taxes - she liked highways, bridges, and schools as much as the next egg - but did Unc really have to tax everything? These days you couldn't even take a breath without him sticking his hand out. This here is Freedom Air, and you know what they say about freedom...it isn't free. Sales tax, income tax, business tax, import tax, it was enough to drive you crazy.

You know, in Saudi Arabia (or maybe it was somewhere else in the Mideast), they don't tax you at all. Period. Thirty years ago - had she been alive - she never would have given that place a second thought (women can't drive? Pfft), but since the liberal reforms of the twenty-twenties, it wasn't such a bad deal, and right about now, she was thinking of dusting out...getting a little place on the Persian Gulf and living out the rest of her life in paradise - just her, Lemy, and lots of babies.

Liby giggled. She loved kids and she loved the idea of having as many as possible. She didn't always dig them, though; she only warmed up after working eight months at a daycare undercover. When it came time to get lost, she almost considered giving up Mystery Girl, LTD and staying, but this job wasn't about her, it was about cleaning up crime, and if she didn't do it, who would?

Of course, she could be persuaded to fade from detective work, but only by the right guy...a close relative, say, whose name started with an 'L' and ended with a…

Out the window, she glimpsed Lemy stalking along the sidewalk, head down, shoulders slumped, and her heart froze mid-beat. If you've ever had a crush, you know the feeling - kind of a sharp burst in the middle of your chest that extends down into your stomach. It was strong enough to make her double over, but she quickly recovered; splaying her hands on the desk, she lifted her butt from the chair and half-stood, her mouth falling open and her pupils dilating. He turned up the walkway, and her eyes went to the front of his jeans; maybe it was her imagination, but she could see the outline of his bulge, and she bit her bottom lip.

He disappeared under porch roof, then a moment later she heard him on the stairs. She should go elbow him before someone came along and bugged one of them.

A pang of dread rippled through her.

Uh...maybe right now wasn't such a good time. He did just get through the door. She should give him a few minutes, or an hour, or more.

She dropped back into the chair and sighed. Come on, Lib, you've faced mobsters, smugglers, kingpins, chopper squads, bloodthirsty Brunos, droppers, and the hardest of the hard...why can't you face Lemy?

Because I'm in love with him. I can take the Broderick, I can take chin music, I can even stand to be plugged...but I can't take having my heart broken...not by Lemy. I mean, I can, but...I really, really don't want to.

But the risk was well worth the reward.

Wel, well worth it.

She picked up her pen and tapped it against the desk. Finish this form and then go talk to Lemy.

Right.

She pressed the tip against the page and started to write, but stopped.

Yep.

Right. After. This.

Something moved in the street below, and she half-stood again: Lyra passed and went up the walkway, a tight-lipped expression of unhappiness plastered to her face. Hm, wonder what she got into, Liby wondered as she sat. Maybe she confessed her feelings to a boy and he turned her down.

Heh.

That laugh was nervous, by the way. Very nervous.

It wouldn't be the end of the world if Lemy rejected her. He was a great guy, but there were other great guys out there, right? It's not like him looking at her bared heart, sneering in disgust, and telling her to fuck off would put her in a Chicago overcoat or anything. She'd survive.

Yeah. She'd survive.

She hurriedly finished the form in front of her, then sat back. Alright, Lb, deep breath. Are you ready? No? Good, no gumshoe ever is. She pushed away and stood on shaky knees. She turned to leave, to embark on his vital task, but stopped when she spotted Lacy walking her bike along the sidewalk. Her gaze was downcast and her steps heavy, as though her shoes were made of concrete (been there before). She took a deep breath and let it out in what Liby could only imagine was a miserable sigh.

A soft frown ran across Liby's lips. First Lyra, now Lacy. They were both upset and came back home close together, which told Liby they had a fight. Should she talk to them? See if she could help?

No, they'd work it out.

She had...other matters to attend to.

Putting Lacy and Lyra out of her head, she went to the door, slapped her hands onto either side of the frame, and leaned out into the hall. Lemy's door was closed; she could hear music and smell the warm tang of hash. She couldn't say she liked his new dope smoking habit, but it was okay! She'd accept it.

She started toward his room, but stopped. Did she smell okay? She lifted one arm and sniffed her armpits, then the other. She didn't smell anything, but a little deodorant couldn't hurt. In the bathroom, she grabbed a stick of Secret from the medicine cabinet over the sink and applied enough to keep the stink at bay for a month. Since I'm here, I might as well brush my teeth; if he kisses me, I want to taste good.

The thought of kissing him made her feel warm and tingly; if he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger as they stroked tongues, she'd melt...literally melt.

Done, she spat into the sink, then rinsed with mouthwash. There, she said with a nod to her reflection, minty fresh. How about some perfume? She opened the medicine cabinet again and scanned the boxes and bottles crammed onto the shelves Aha, here we go. She took it out and read the label. It was in French, which was one of the few languages she knew little about: She learned Russian from a former KGB agent; Swahili from a tribal chieftain living in Detroit in the Witness Protection Program; German from an East German screw; and Spanish from a Mexican cartel man turned informer - name was Snow. No one ever taught her French, though. Oh well. She took off the cap and smelled it.

Finding it satisfactory, she spritzed some on and started to leave, but stopped again. Maybe she should just go full bore and take a shower, because if he started kissing and touching her, there was only one way it was going to go - all the way.

Stalling, Lib, you're stalling.

Right.

Deep breath.

She went down the hall, her nerves getting jitterier with every step toward Lemy's door. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. Her cheeks were on fire and her heart was thudding. When she reached it, she stood there for a long time, building herself up. She was prepared for the worst as she knocked, but hoping for the best.

Lemy didn't reply, and she knocked again.

The music was pretty loud, maybe he didn't hear her. She tried the handle and it was unlocked. If she was lucky he would be masturbating, and she could give him a hand...or a mouth…

She peeked in.

He wasn't masturbating.

He was asleep.

Her heart sank a little.

She should wake him up.

Sparing a glance over her shoulder and seeing nothing, she slipped in and closed the door behind her. He was ramrod straight, his hands folded on his chest and he head turned to one side; his lips were slightly parted and his brow was furrowed cutely. Her heart swelled and she smiled. Awww. She knelt next to the bed and watched him for a long time, her heart pounding a crazy tempo; the more she drank him in, the deeper she fell. She leaned over, reached out, and shook his arm. "Lemy?"

He snorted and smacked his lips, but didn't wake. She shook harder. "Lemy."

Nothing.

She sat back, laid her hands in her lap, and sighed in disappointment.

There was always later, she supposed.

Getting to her feet, she bent over and went to kiss him, but her headgear bumped into his forehead. Whoops. Sorry. She leaned her forehead against his and took a deep breath through her nose, his smell filling her and making her weak kneed. "I love you," she said.

Reluctantly she left him and went into the hall. Why didn't I take my stupid headgear off? What a schmuck; you almost looked like a rube in front of Lemy.

She sighed and went down the stairs.

Wow, she was really disappointed, so much so that she was starting to tear up. Wiping her eyes, she passed through the living room and went into the kitchen. Part of her was kind of glad to have the reprieve - at least she could hold onto the fantasy for a little while longer with no chance of horrible reality intruding.

Grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge, she popped the top and took a long, grateful drink as she went back into the dining room.

On the way in, she didn't notice Lacy sitting at the table with her head in her hands, but she did now. She flashed back to watching her and Lyra come home moments apart, both looking upset.

In the Loud family, you are expected to work through your problems with a sibling on your own, and Liby generally stayed out of her sisters' business, but Lacy looked really down, and if you can walk past your sister when she's Really Down, you're more hardboiled than her.

She pulled out a chair and sat across from the younger girl. Lacy glanced up, then away; her eyes shimmered with tears, and Liby's heart twinged. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Lacy muttered weakily.

Liby lifted her brows. "Something's wrong," she pressed, "you're crying."

"No I'm not," Lacy said, her voice thick. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palms.

You didn't have to be the best private investigator in Royal Woods to know Lacy was lying. "Come, on, Lace, what happened?"

Lacy didn't immediately reply, and when she did, Liby was taken aback by her forthrightness - forthrightness not being a trait she was known to possess. "I did something really stupid and…" she took a deep breath … "I don't know. I'm so confused."

"What did you do?"

There was a long, tense silence, and Liby began to think that Lacy wasn't going to tell her, but then she did...oh, she did. "I kissed Lemy," she said, and looked up, her face washed out and miserable. "I feel like I cheated on Dad...but I really like him."

Liby Loud had never been shot directly in her heart, but in that moment, Lacy's words pierced her as surely as any bullet.

Lacy hung her head again. "I don't know what to do."

Maybe she said something else after that, but Liby did not hear it: Seven words rang in her head, resounding through the chambers of her skill skull like funeral bells.

I kissed Lemy...I really like him.

Without another word, she jumped up and hurried from the room, her sister's horrible declaration following her.

I kissed Lemy...I really like him.


	7. Plans

**Lyrics to Teenagers by My Chemical Romance (2007)**

When Lincoln got home that Friday afternoon, he was surprised (and a little annoyed) to find a box truck parked in front of the house, its ass end jutting out and blocking the driveway. The big back doors were open and a metal ramp angled down to the street. A man in blue overalls carried a crate down, and Leia, holding a clipboard, pointed him toward the garage. Lizy stood next to her, watching impassively, her hands clasped behind her back and her red cap pulled low on her forehead.

Oh, God, what is this?

He passed the truck and parked at the curb. For a moment he sat behind the wheel, the heel of his palm pressed against his achy temple. His eyes ached too; as did his back, his knees, and his feet. His feet most of all.

With a weary sigh, he threw the door open and climbed out; the mid-August air was dry and warm, the sounds of kids playing and the smell of barbecuing chicken washing over him like a pleasant memory. He walked along the side of the truck and then wide around the ramp. Leia was studying the clipboard intently, the butt of a pen resting thoughtfully against her chin. Lizy twisted left and right; when she saw him, her face brightened. "Hi, Daddy!"

Leia looked up and smiled too, here's a slight more...suggestive than her sister's.

"What's all this?" Lincoln asked, gesturing toward the truck.

"Lemons," Leia said.

Lincoln's step faltered. "Lemons? Not in this chapter."

The ten-year-old rolled her eyes fondly. "No, Daddy, lemons...literal lemons."

"They're really sour," Lizy said and screwed her face up in a cute pucker. "I like 'em."

The man in the overalls grunted and brushed past Lincoln. The crate was overful...as were the two dozen stacked in the garage; Lincoln could see them through the open roll-top doors...welcome home, asshole. "That's a lot of lemons," he said, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice and winning...for the most part.

"Don't worry, I paid for them."

Leia was a businesswoman in the making; she was always hatching childish get-rich-quick schemes. Some were successful, others were not. Selling hot cocoa to plow drivers and neighbors shoveling out from under a blizzard last winter went well...her kissing booth (10 DOLLARS W/TONGUE, 5 DOLLARS W/O TONGUE) didn't; those under a certain age were too shy, and those over a certain age wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole because jail or pedophila or some damn thing. Sometimes, she 'borrowed' money from him to fund her ventures...and more often than not, he did not get it back.

"Okay," he allowed, "but why are there thirty crates of lemons in the garage?"

"We're opening a lemonade stand," Lizy piped.

Leia sighed. "No, I'm opening a lemonade stand. You're just the help."

Lizy looked up at Lincoln and beamed. "I'm the help."

Aw, Christ. He rubbed his temple and took a deep breath. "Honey," he started, and Leia perked up (she loved being called affectionate pet names...you could call her smelly tramp if you cutesied it up), "I appreciate your drive and your vision, I really do…"

She smiled widely. "Thank you, Daddy."

"...but don't you think that maaaaybe that might be a little much? You're selling lemonade on a suburban street, not in the middle of Grand Central Station. You're not going to get a return on your investment."

"The overhead is a little high," Leia admitted, "but I'm offering a delivery service." She grinned proudly. "Fresh lemonade wherever you are."

Lincoln crossed his arms. "Oh? And how's that going to work?"

The little girl smiled sheepishly. "My Daddy…"

"...would like to enjoy his Saturday," Lincoln finished.

Leia sighed. "I -" she cut herself off, and a devious smile cleaved across her lips. Lincoln recognized that expression all too well; it was identical to Lola's. He called it their I-have-an-evil-plan-brewing look, and when he saw it, he always did what he did now; ran away like a coward. She might be a little girl, but if you got in her way when she had her mind set on something, you were going down and so was everyone you loved.

At the front door, he took a deep breath and braced himself, then turned the knob and went in; he bent slightly forward at the waist because sometimes when they came running, the family jewels wound up in the crosshairs.

No one came, and he stood. Oh. Okay. Loan looked up from the couch, and her perpetual scowl turned into the brightest, cheeriest smile you've ever seen. "Hey, Daddy," she said.

"Hi," Lincoln said and shut the door. "Where is everyone?"

Loan shrugged. "I don't know. Around."

As if on cue, Lupa hurried down the stairs, her normally blank face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hey, Dad," she said. This is what he looked forward to most when he came home in the evening, seeing his two most dour girls glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife. It made it all worth it: The long hours, the back-breaking work, the constant, never-ending-even-when-I-want-it-to s -

Lupa hugged his waist and looked up at him with a salacious grin. Her hand snaked around and squeezed his butt, making him jump. "Can you help me with something in my room?"

"Well, actually -"

"I need his help with something on the couch," Loan put in and patted the open spot next to her with a wink.

Lupa's face hardened and she turned. Before she could snipe back, however, Lincoln held up his hand. "I'll spend time with both of you - later. Right now I just want to relax a little. Okay?"

Both of them looked at him with disappointment so keen it made his heart hurt. He had to be firm, though; a pushover parent is no parent at all if you asked him. He bent forward and kissed Lupa's forehead. "I'll come up in a little while."

She accepted this with a reluctant nod. "Alright," she said, her voice returning to the flat monotone she used with everyone but him. She turned and trudged up the stairs with heavy, crestfallen watched her go with sadness; he really did love seeing her and Loan so happy, but sometimes after a hard days' work, a man just wants to come home and relax. They knew that. At least they should.

He turned to Loan, and she gave a come hither nod. "Later," he said, and her face fell. She looked grumpy and ill at east again. Lincoln sighed as he went into the kitchen. Sometimes he felt like no matter what he did he was letting someone down...usually a lot of someones. That's to be expected in a...situation as unique as his, but knowing that it went with the territory didn't make it any easier. Jeez, between work, his sisters, and his eldest daughters, he barely got to spend time with Lemy, Lizy, or Lulu. That bothered him. Oh, he made damn sure there was time, but, God, he was being pulled in so many directions that it was never as much as he wanted.

Especially with Lemy.

Here's something you might not have considered: Lincoln grew up surrounded by girls - eleven if you count Mom, and his first six children were girls. He knew the ins and outs of the female psyche so goddamn well he might as well be one himself. Boys? He didn't know shit about them. Connecting with Lemy was so much harder than it should be, and sometimes he lost sleep wondered why he struggled with it, why it didn't come natural like it did with the girls. He considered and rejected the sexual aspect of their relationship as being a factor; he felt the same about them when they were little and the thought of being with them had never crossed his mind. He felt that way about Lemy, too, a deep, abiding love, but...have you ever seen a plane being refueled in midair by another plane? There's this long hose that connects them. He was like the plane with all the fuel; it was there, ready to go, but he couldn't get the damn hose to its mark.

Part of that was, he thought, because he and Lemy weren't very much alike. When he was twelve, he was a comic book geek who valued his social life so much that he went to great pains to avoid being ostracized at school (like powering the house once with an exercise bike and his own sweat just so his class wouldn't lose some dumb eco challenge). Lemy was one of the guys who sat in the back of the class and didn't give a shit what people thought. That wasn't a terrible thing, but it wasn't a great thing, either. You have to care what other people think, to a degree, or you're in for a rough, lonely life. He was a good boy overall, and whenever Lincoln saw him helping or spending time with one of his sisters, his heart swelled with love and pride. He'd kick up a fuss here and there, but he always did the right thing in the end.

Lemy was also at the threshold of his teens, and that's a time fraught with confusion, hormones, and budding independence. When he wasn't being kind and considerate with one or more of his sisters, he was usually in his room listening to music or working on radios - the latter of which was a talent Lincoln was extremely proud of. At that age, a boy wants his space, and he tried to give it to him without backing away entirely, but each day it felt like he was walking a tightrope; he was beginning to wobble and one wrong move would send him crashing down on one side or the other. There's an old song Luna really liked that says to hold on loosely, but don't let go...if you cling too tightly you're gonna lose control. That was what he tried to do with Lemy, to hold on loosely.

Sometimes, though, it didn't feel like it was working. He only saw Lemy at dinner now, and whenever Lincoln spoke to him, he grumbled as though talking to him was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He told himself it was classic teenage sullenness, but he couldn't help feeling that he went terribly wrong somewhere and that the more he tried to find the right path, the farther in the wrong direction he went.

In the kitchen, he went to the fridge and grabbed a Coke. He opened it on his way into the living room and took a drink once he was esconded in his Lazy-Boy. Time to relax and…

The front door opened and Luna came in with a plastic grocery bag in each hand; she wore tight jeans and a billowy purple shirt with little stings by the throat. I don't know what the hell they're called. Lucy came behind in a black dress that reached her knees. Her black hair was in a ponytail and her bangs came down to the tops of her eyebrows. She, too, held bags.

"Hey, bro," Luna said happily, "glad you're here, we could really use some help."

Lincoln bowed his head. Of course. "Alright," he said and pushed himself up. His feet panged in protest but he ignored them. Outside, the truck driver was pushing a handcart stacked with crates up the driveway. Jesus, how many did Leia order? A single lemon fell, hit the pavement, and rolled awkwardly into the grass.

"Hey!" Leia called. "I paid good money for those!"

"Sorry, ma'am," he said in a tone that suggested he'd heard it all before...and no longer cared.

Luna's Jeep was parked on the other side of the street; Lincoln waited for a minivan to pass then crossed and went around to the back hatch. Bags were heaped upon bags, and the whole mess was covered with a layer of bags under a coating of bags.

There were a shit ton of bags is what I'm saying. Lincoln grabbed two in each hand and carried them into the house. Lucy was on her way out, and she leaned in to kiss him as they passed - a quick, affectionate peck on the lips. He returned it and brushed his nose against hers like an Eskimo. "Stop," she smiled, "that tickles."

"Sorry."

Not sorry.

In the kitchen, Luna was standing on her tippy toes to put a box in the cabinet over the drying rack; the hem of her shirt rode up to expose her pale, creamy flesh. Lincoln sat the bags on the table, went over, and put his hands on her hips. She was warm and soft, and when he kissed her neck, his crotch rubbing against her butt, she purred. "Hey, bro."

"Hey," he said. The scent of her skin filled his nose and tantalized his senses. He began to stir, and he crept his hands around her stomach. "How was your day?"

"Pretty sweet," she said and perched the box on the edge of the shelf. She pushed it in with her fingers, and then turned in his arms, her arms circling his neck. "How was yours?"

"The usual," Lincoln said, "crap."

Luna offered a big, closed lip smile that told him she was up to no good. "Well, if it's any consolation we're having your favorite for dinner."

Something told him she wasn't talking about Swedish meatballs. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah, man, fur pie."

For a moment they gazed deeply into each other's eyes...then broke out laughing. "You wanna know the really funny part?" Lincoln asked when he recovered.

"What?"

He leaned in and kissed her lips. "I had it for lunch."

She shoved him away and he snickered. "Jane in accounting," he said, "ummmm."

"Go away," Luna said fondly.

Back outside, he crossed paths with Lucy again, and smacked her butt. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and did her best deadpan. "Later." The twinkle in her eye and the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her, though.

A lot of people didn't understand his relationship with his family, and theris with him. Lincoln could respect that; once upon a time he too would have furrowed his brows at a man having sex with his sisters and daughters, all of them living under the same roof like some kind of Mormon incest cult, but it worked for them; they were happy and loving and closer than most other families. What's so bad about that?

At the Jeep, he grabbed two more bags, both heavy, one with milk and the other with a jar of spaghetti sauce, then started back to the house.

How did he have enough love for all of the women in his life, you might ask? Well...he was a passionate man. Sometimes, though, the...more physical aspects of the family dynamic were a bit taxing: Keeping up with close to twenty women would be a challenge for even a much younger man, and there were days when he crawled into bed half dead and so spent he could barely move. Hopefully it wouldn't be long before L -

Lincoln Loud had a problem: He gathered wool when he should be paying attention to where he was going. In the past, he walked into walls, door frames, and street signs while his brain was out to lunch. This time he stepped on a lemon; one second things were fine, the next he was slipping and falling, his heart rocketing into his throat. His life flashed before his eyes and that cartoon slip-and-fall sound effect rang in his ears. He tried to save himself, but wound up making it worse: His arms fileaid and the grocery bags shot straight up into the air as he went down. He hit the pavement flat on his back, and his head slammed hard. Pain exploded in his skull, but the worst was yet to come.

He opened his eyes just as the gallon of milk landed on his face, busting his nose and exploding; cow juice splattered him and the pavement, a good measure shooting down his throat and into his windpipe. His cough turned into a high pitched scream as a jar of spaghetti sauce dropped onto his balls; pain filled his stomach like a leaden balloon, and his hands flew to his damaged package.

The truck driver's fist went to his mouth. "Ooooh, shit," he snickered. Leia gaped, her face pale, while Lizy pointed and giggled.

To add insult to injury, he was the one who had to go back to the store for more milk.

Stupid lemons.

* * *

Everyone has a place in life, even if it isn't obvious. Take him, Lemy Loud, for example. His place was standing one inch high next to his father, who was currently bent over the dinner table with a pack of frozen peas pressed against the back of his head because he slipped on a banana peel or something like a fucking clown. You're not as good as Dad...I love Dad, I don't love you. That's basically what Lacy said to him today.

No, that was a bullshit line, had to be. Oh, cheating, oh, uh. Yeah? The man sticks his dick in how many other girls on the reg? Let's see: Loan, Liena, Lyra, Liby, Lupa, Leia...that's six, and that's not even counting his sisters. That's not cheating? Oh, I forgot, Dad's Jesus fucking Christ, so it's okay when he does it.

Deep breath, man, deep breath.

He really wasn't that mad about it - when he woke up from his nap, he felt...alright. Not great, but not like the broken, heart-dead sad sack he was before. Then, after an hour and a half, he came downstairs and there he fucking was with that cowlick...flapping with every step like a gay man's hand (heeeeeyyy) and those busted ass front teeth. He was sitting on the couch and allll of his daughters were clustered around (except Liby and Lacy for some reason) Oh, poor Daddy fell and hurt his widdle head. The way they were pawing at him you'd think he had terminal cancer or something. It made Lemy so fucking sick he almost walked back upstairs. Let me bust my fucking head, who's gonna give a rats ass about me? Mom, maybe, but that was it. That's not how a man handles his pain, son, he could hear his father saying. And hissing over your chipped grill while holding tomorrow night's side dish on your fucking head is?

Oh, okay, I forgot, I was shoehorned into this family and no one wants me. I'll keep my fucking mouth shut from now on, alright? Everyone else can bitch and piss and moan and that's fine, but let me fucking breathe wrong and Ew, gross, it's Lemy; oh, he's still here? Dad's better than him.

I get it. Just shut the fuck up.

Presently, he scooped up a spoonful of corn and pushed it past his lips. It tasted bland, watery. Must be Mom's night to cook; she was a chef the same way Tom Cullen was an astrophysicist. M-O-O-N, that spells eureka! He kept his head low, but he was aware of his sisters all around him, especially Lacy sitting next to Dad; he really didn't want to see her right now, because every time he did the knife twisted just a little deeper. He couldn't help himself entirely, though, and when he glanced up, he caught Lacy staring off into space, her face propped in her hand. She turned to him, and he saw pleading in her eyes.

He looked down at his plate. He was not aware of Liby and Lyra stealing glances at him, the latter with concern and the former with sad longing.

"You alright, Linc?" Lori asked and took a bite of mashed potatoes. Yeah, Linc, you alright? Need anything? Your seltzer bottle? Your unicycle? A tissue, you fucking bitch?

Dad nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, "I'm fine."

Lemy stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Back to what I was saying, we all have a place in life, and there comes a point in time when you have to learn it. This is my place - in this chair, in family - and I'm going to accept that because you can't fight fate, man, you can't fight the universe, you just gotta roll over, bite the pillow, and take it. Maybe that sounds fatalistic, but it's true. I spent so long fighting back and it's like quicksand...the more you thrash, the deeper you get.I realized that and I gave up. Screw women, screw my old man, screw my mom, screw it all. I'm gonna carve out a little niche for myself and hunker there until I die.

And I'm not going to torture myself with this anymore. I'm going to let it go.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

There.

Now this chicken...tasted like the kind you dig out of a Hungry Man meal. It feels good to be full. Full of what? Overprocessed, cancer inducing slop? Yeah, man, go ahead and sign me up for seconds. You know some guy kept a McDonald's cheeseburger in his fridge for twenty years and it didn't rot? Twenty fuckng years. What's in that shit, embalming fluid? I hear you can dip cigarettes in that shit, smoke them, and trip your balls right off of your body.

(Why doesn't she want me?)

Perfect thing to do at a rave, ya know, around a bunch of people you don't know. Especially if you're a girl.

(What's wrong with me?)

Maybe that's not such a great id - VICTIM SHAMING!

Goddamn, fine, whatever, it's not my pussy getting raped. Do what you want. As for the dudes who do that shit...man, how can you get off when the girl doesn't want you? Was he strange for wanting the girl to be into it? Into him?

(Please be into me, Lacy)

Must be. Silly Lemy, he's some kind of gay ass romantic or some shit, fuck that guy. Dumb ass eighties hair, lame headband, little fingerless gloves he wears when he jacks dudes off. What? You wanna kiss a chick and hold her hand and shit? Where's your bike, fag? Going to your boyfriend's house? Brian's my favorite, who's yours?

(Please love me)

What can I say? I am what I am. Can't really change that. I try to be a good dude, I really do, but good dudes finish last. State of nature and shit. Can't fight it: You either adapt and become a fucking prick, or you get eaten alive like a background character in The Walking Dead.

(I love you)

They say everyone looks at their life like it's a movie and they're the main character. Not me. I'm a secondary guy, 'supporting cast.' That's not terrible, I guess, since I'm still on the lot getting paid and eating free catering (hey, man, is that escargot?), its just...you know, it is what it is.

(I want to hold you so bad)

There's skin in my mashed potatoes. Isn't that a pun or something? Like a black fly in your chardonnay? No, wait, that's irony. You know that Alanis Morissette song "Ironic"? Of all the stuff she lists in there - rain on your wedding day, a free ride when you already paid - none of it is actually ironic...so it's a song called "Ironic" that isn't about irony at all...which is ironic! Hahahaha.

(I'm desperate)

Lemy balled his swollen fist and looked up, his face pointed at his father but his eyes on the wall, away from him, away from them all. "Can I be excused?"

Eyes and teeth clenched, Dad nodded. "Yeah." His voice was strained.

Lemy stood up, grabbed his plate, and took it into the kitchen, where he scraped it into the trash then threw it in the sink. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he crossed through the dining room.

When he was gone, Lacy brushed a tear away from her cheek and stole a sidelong glance at her father. Guilt and self-loathing bubbled up in her...then she thought of Lemy when she caught him looking at her: The pain in his eyes, the agony on his face like a death mask. Her stomach turned and she felt like she was going to be sick.

She loved Dad dearly...but not like she loved Lemy. With Dad, it was burning passion, but with Lemy it was...it was different, like a low but warm fire. She could stop thinking about Dad when he wasn't around, but not Lemy.

"Can I be excused too?" Liby asked from her station across the table. Her face was ashen and her voice trembled slightly.

Dad nodded. "Yes."

Liby got up, took her plate into the kitchen, then came out and went upstairs. Lacy scraped her fork across her plate and stared into her dinner much the same way Lemy had stared into his breakfast that morning: Like she was a gypsy reading tea leaves and not liking what they were telling her. What should she do? She didn't want to hurt Dad, but on the other hand she was already hurting Lemy and…

She didn't know; she felt so lost and over her head that she could barely think straight. Suddenly, she was tired - so drained she could barely sit up.

"Can I go too?" she asked lowly.

Dad simply nodded.

She took her plate into the kitchen, threw away her food (barely touched), and sat it in the sink. In her room, she kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head and blocking out the world. She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed.

When Lemy kissed her back at the park, she felt something...something she'd never known before, something strong and burning; each rake of his tongue against hers sent sparks showering into her center, and when he slipped his hand into her hair, she nearly lost her balance. She felt dizzy and giddy when she kissed Dad, but not like that.

The physical act of kissing her brother - even of making love to him - did not bother her as much as the emotion behind it; she loved her father, but she was not in love with him She was in love with Lemy, and...she didn't know. It wasn't something you could rationalize; she felt deep in her heart that loving Lemy the way she did was wrong, and that...well…like the saying goes, you can't serve two masters. Her heart was firmly in Lemy's hands now, and that was kind of unfair to Dad, wasn't it?

Here's the thing, though: She knew, knew, that she wouldn't be able to hold out for long. Right or wrong, she would go back to Lemy because she was selfish and weak.

Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them away with the heel of her palm. She really didn't want to hurt her father, but...she very well might end up doing just that.

* * *

Across the hall, Liby paced an endless circuit around her room, her hands on her hips and a thoughtful expression on her face; lips pursed, brow knitted, eyes rolled to the side and hazy with distance. Inside, her chest ached and her stomach knotted; every so often, her step would quicken and her breathing would deepen. At the door, closed against the hateful world, she flashed and slapped the frame so hard her palm stung.

Of course Lacy likes Lemy. Why wouldn't she? I thought, I honestly thought, I could have Lemy to myself, but, ha, this is the Loud family, you get nothing for your own.

Share him.

She didn't want to share him!

You share Dad.

That was different; for all the things they did together, she wasn't in love with her father. She didn't see herself marrying him or having his children. She could see marrying Lemy, though; it was vague and indistinct, as though seen through smoke and shadows, but, yes, she could see it. Sharing a man you love is fine...but a man you're in love with? That made her feel strange...almost panicky. If she dwelled on it, she'd lose her composure and start to cry again; she shoved away her emotions and took a step back. Look at it coolly, rationally, as Mystery Girl and not Liby Loud.

Deep breath.

Alright. In the words of Joe Friday: Just the facts, ma'am.

She and Lacy liked the same boy...the fact that he was their brother was entirely irrelevant save that they all lived under the same roof. Lacy claimed to really like him, and if she felt anywhere near what Liby herself felt, she wasn't going to give up and walk away. Oh, you love him too, sis? Well, to avoid family strife, I concede. Ha, fat chance. There was going to be acrimony, jealousy, and maybe even blows. Maybe...maybe she should back down.

That thought stopped her dead in her tracks. She didn't want to, though. Goddamn it, she wanted Lemy.

But she also didn't want to fight her sister.

Lemy isn't worth fighting for?

No! He is! But Lacy's my sister and...it's just a bad scene. We're not the closest, but I love her and I really don't want to destroy our relationship.

The risk is worth the reward.

Was it?

She called up a vision of Lemy's face, and her heartbeat sped up.

The responsible thing to do would be to talk to Lacy and see if maybe they could work something out. Lacy was wracked with guilt because she felt like she was cheating on Dad; Liby didn't feel the same way, so she had that in her favor.

She perked up.

That's right. She really liked Lemy but she was hung up on their father, which she, Liby, could use to her advantage. She hoped Lacy would let Lemy go on her own, but if she needed a little help, well...Liby wasn't above providing it.

Lemy hung in the balance, after all, and Mystery Girl, if not Liby Loud, was something of a consequentialist: The ends justify the means.

She started to pace again, and to plan.

* * *

Lemy put the joint between his lips, lit it, and inhaled; his lungs pinched and the back of his throat tickled. He thought of the killer from Scary Movie; that scene where he stops slashing teenagers long enough to smoke bud with a bunch of stones. He takes a big hit and lets it out. This is some good shit. He chuckled sardonically. That's the power of weed, man; stop a serial killer in his tracks.

He blew out a plume and got up. At his dresser, he grabbed a leatherbound CD booklet and flipped through the pages, the joint jutting from his mouth; he puffed like a college professor on a pipe. Today we discuss the merits and demerits of Judas Priest, AC/DC, Metallica, and Slipknot.

Now that's a class he'd pay attention in. They have those, don't they? He absently scratched his chest as he took another puff. He thought so; they have a lot of weird ass college classes these days. The only problem is, once you get your degree, what the fuck are you going to do with it? Hang it on the fridge in your mom's basement? Cuz, brother, that's where you're gonna wind up living. Ooooh, liberal arts degree, uh, I'm so cool. Yeah, I'll have a side of fries with that, and super size me, huh?

You ever see that movie? They call it a documentary but he read someone it was full of shit. Not surprising, everyone's got an agenda. Notice that? Catholics, democrats, fan fiction writers...even not having an agenda is kind of an agenda. Agenda, agenda, agenda. Doesn't make sense anymore, does it?

Wincing against smoke that stung his eyes, he slipped a disc from one of the holders, went back over to the bed, and sat. Too bad the Zenith doesn't have a CD port, he thought as he reached over and picked up his boombox. Surely you can add one, but he'd never done that before, and it sounded like it'd be a real pain in the ass.

I'm doing it. Why not, I got nothing else going on. No teams, no clubs, no gangs - man, I suck. I should join the Bloods or something. Lemy Loud, street name Snowflake.

He dropped the CD in and closed the lid, then pressed PLAY.

Yep. Snowflake.

Music started to filter from the speaker. Electric guitar. Heh. Maybe it's the weed talking, but you can really hear the electricity. He snickered. Yeah, man, this soup is really soupy. Durrr.

_They're gonna clean up your looks_

_With all the lies in the books_

_To make a citizen out of you_

My Chemical Romance. Kind of a...guilty pleasure. This song, at least; he didn't know any of their other shit. He always thought they were some kind of gay ass emo band, but he heard this one on the radio and oh, shit, that's not bad.

_Because they sleep with a gun_

_And keep an eye on you, son_

_So they can watch all the things you do_

He pinched the burning end of the joint and dropped it onto the desk. Don't wanna fall asleep, man, I just wanna...I just wanna think.

Heh. I'm a fucking mess. Daddy issues like a woman...fucking self-pity, oh boo hoo no one loves me. I gotta stop that shit. It's getting old...giving me a headache. I don't like feeling this way. Does anyone? I mean...if you do, you're not serious, you know? Like Lupa. She has this...air...you know, like she revels in being dour. I don't. It's a fucking prison on planet bullshit.

No, joking aside, it kind of feels like I'm in prison or something.

_Because the drugs never work_

_They're gonna give you a smirk_

_'Cause they got methods of keepin' you clean_

Yeah, maybe I have legit reasons to be upset, but I can't let it get to me like I did at dinner. Hahahahaha. I'm laughing because that's the suck thing about incest. The girl you like is also your sister, so you got two different relationship dynamics going on, and if she breaks your heart, you can't go home and get away from her; you see her at the table, in the living room, on the way to the can. She's always there, you know, a constant reminder of whatever went down.

_They gonna rip up your heads_

_Your aspirations to shreds_

_Another cog in the murder machine_

I realize how fucked up it is...you know, the incest shit...but, I don't know, I guess it's so ingrained in me that I can't be any other way. I'm attracted to my sisters and I love all of them as sisters and more. They don't love me back. That's just my curse and I have to fucking deal with it. It's not their fault: If someone doesn't love you, they don't love you, there's not shit you can do about it except move on. And I want to, I really do; this fucking being angry and depressed shit isn't fair to me and it's not fair to them. It's not healthy either.

_They said all_

_Teenagers scare_

_The living shit out of me_

_They could care less_

_As long as someone'll bleed_

I do feel unloved, and maybe I have reason to, and maybe I don't; maybe I'm taking it too far. My sisters hug me, my Mom hugs me, I kind of know that they love me, but...I just...I see the way they look at Dad, the fucking 'shimmering adoration' in their eyes and...that's love to me. Like I consider that love. They all look at him that way; my sisters, my aunts, and I just...I want it too; I want to look into their eyes and see how much they love me instead of guessing or simply being told Oh, I love you. I wanna see it, man, I wanna feel it in their touch and their kisses, I...I also wanna fuck them. Hahahahaha. No use denying it, I'm a horny fucking virgin.

_So darken your clothes_

_Or strike a violent pose_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone_

_But not me_

I'm more than that, but it's, uhhh, it's a big part of it, too. Kind of like wires all entwined. Red, blue, yellow. That kind of thing.

Maybe.

I don't fucking know, man, I just know I need to get my head right and stop doing this to myself. And it is me. I take responsibility. Nothing can really bother you unless you let it. Check it: Fag. Ugly word right, but when you look at it, it's just a bunch of symbols put together that, like, we've empowered. Yeah, there's...there's umph or whatever behind it, but only because people did that. Same thing with virgin loser. It's the thought behind it, not the words, and…

_The boys and girls in the clique_

_The awful names that they stick_

_You're never gonna fit in much, kid_

Lemy cocked his head to the side, his train of thought de-fucking-railed. Man, I'm stoned. Where was I? Something about racist words and letting it bother you or something. I don't know, maybe I'm full of shit, I just think the power lies within us, you know, and nothing out there can hurt us unless we allow it to. I let a thing hurt me. I LET. That virgin loser shit...I gave it power, and I gave Lacy power when she kissed me and then shoved me away like garbage. I could have shrugged and walked away, but I let it inside.

Why did she kiss me? Does she feel something for me? I don't know. They say moments carry you away or something, so maybe the moment carried her away? Maybe she felt bad, like, as a sister for her brother, and she thought a kiss would help me and liked it herself or didn't like it, and had to run away?

_But if you're troubled and hurt_

_What you got under your shirt_

_Will make them pay for the things that they did_

I dunno, you can drive yourself crazy overthinking shit. I'm not gonna do that anymore. Yeah, man, I hurt, but life doesn't stop. Break your heart or break your head, the world keeps on spinning and feeling sorry for yourself isn't gonna do you any favors. You just gotta deal. I'm not the only one who hurts. Hell, I think everyone does to one degree or another, and they do it. They go to work, they come...they come home, they marry and have kids while still loving that chick they dated in college or nursing broken dreams. From what I've seen, that's called being an adult.

_They said all_

_Teenagers scare_

_The living shit out of me_

_They could care less_

_As long as someone'll bleed_

Sounds like it sucks, huh? Well, man, so does the weather when it rains, what'cha gonna do? Call into work, sit inside, and cry down the front of your shirt? You can't do that. You have to keep on because nothing ever stops until you stop. Stopping is appealing sometimes but I'm not gonna stop over some dumb, petty, fucking teenager drama. Oh, she kissed me and then...blah blah blah...other guy. Hahahahaha. Yeah, man, you got it hard, huh? How'd that math test go? Someone else wore the same South Pole suit as you? Golllll-eeee, here come the four horsemen.

_So darken your clothes_

_Or strike a violent pose_

_Maybe they'll leave you alone_

_But not me_

I'm a bitch and a crybaby and a piece of shit, but I'm working on it because I don't want to be.

I wanna be…

...this hurts to say…

...I wanna be like my Dad.

And not just because my sisters love and fuck him. He, like...something tells me he earned it. And I want to earn it too.

I want to earn love.


	8. Lemon Time

**Lyrics to Boys and Girls by Good Charlotte (2002)**

You ever have one of those days where you wake up grinding your morning wood against your bed? Lemy did...all the time; he'd come gradually awake and realize with a rush of shame that he was literally humping his mattress. God, I hope no one poked their head in; I'd look like an even bigger loser.

Saturday, as it so happened, started out that way: He rose gradually from the depths of consciousness, his mind powering on and his senses ponderously coming alive, and, whoops, his hips were rocking forward, his raging erection bumping into something soft and yielding. Squishy, even. The covers were pulled up to his stomach, so -

Wait a minute. I'm on my back. How the hell am I fucking the matress?

His eye creaked rustily open, the world a blurry smear. Something loomed over him, a liquidly mess of yellow and pink. The fuck? He blinked and his vision cleared; when his brain registered Leia's face, he started.

"Good morning," she said with a wicked little grin. She was straddling him, her knees planted on either side of his hips and her crotch pressing against his. She wore a pink nightgown with a little ribbon near the collar (like a Christmas present...unwrap me, Lemy). Her palms rested on his bare chest, her pink polished nails biting into his warm flesh. Her back was bent slightly forward, and mischievous light danced in her eyes. She swiveled her hips against him and dragged her nails slowly down his skin, making him shiver.

Her blonde pigtails rustled as she leaned closer; Lemy's heart started to race and his throat went drier than a ninety - oh, I already used that one.

Her nose met his and she stared at him with a sinful smirk; her breath puffed against his quivering lips, and he sucked it in partly to taste her, like an addict catching a second-hand high...and partly because his lungs were bursting against the tight constraints of his chest.

"Hmm, I'm not here for that," she said, and Lemy realized his hips were still velicating, his head poking her through the blanket and, presumably, her underwear.

If she was wearing any.

He forced himself to stop; his dick throbbed against her pleasant weight and his heart slammed. He gazed into her big blue eyes like a doe in the headlights, unable to move or to speak or even to think. She tilted her head and ghosted her lips over his. "I need a favor," she whispered huskily. Her breath filled him and his heart started to sputter like it was going to stop. Oh well, worse ways to go...like a prolapsed rectum *shiver*

"W-What?" he returned in a whisper of his own.

She ran her hands up his chest and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Meet me downstairs."

Lemy nodded. "O-Okay."

She smile widely and pushed herself up, her center raking across his member; his back arched and a gasp exploded from his throat. She giggled and kneaded his flesh with her slender fingers like a playful kitten; she bit her lower lip and moved her hips forward along his bulge. He almost simultaneously shot his load and died...or died and shot his load. To paraphrase Mick Jagger:: Leia, you can make a dead man cum.

"Thank you, Lemy," she drew cutely and batted her eyelashes. Before he could reply, she swung one leg over him and slipped out of bed; the hem of her dress rode up and he caught the briefest flash of her pale butt.

She wasn't wearing underwear.

Lemy swallowed hard.

At the door, she tossed a sexy look over her shoulder, her eyes darting up and down as if appraising him. Her smirk widened.

Then she was gone, and he was alone, his dick twitching and his breathing ragged. D-Did that really just happen, or was he having some kinda fucked up pot dream? He twisted around and stared at the window; bright morning sunshine fell through the blinds and lay in thin bars across the carpet. Pretty realistic if so. He swung his legs out from under the covers and leaned his face into a sunbeam; his eyes sizzled and he hissed. Goddamn! Okay, I'm awake.

He got up and his dick shot through the little slot in the front of his boxers. Pop goes the weasel, motherfucker! You're a little late there, buddy; a few minutes earlier and you'd have met Leia.

A fever chill went down his spine. Last night I told myself I was going to turn a new leaf or something, and BOOM, I wake up with Leia perched on my chest like a goddamn succubus. But hey, on the bright side, I didn't think it was going to get anywhere this time, so I'm not that disappointed.

Just a little.

The memory of her eyes and her suggestive little smile flashed across his mind like a pervert whipping open his trench coat. The faint flutter of her lips against the corner of his mouth...the taste of her breath...the smell of her hair...the way she squirmed against his…

...yeah, no dwelling today. Ironclad that will, Lem.

Right.

He tucked his dick back in (would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard) and went to the dresser, where he grabbed a clean pair of jeans and slipped them on. Next he pulled on a light purple shirt which he accented with his sleeveless drab vest. The name on the breast was GOLDBERG, like the wrestler.

After tying his bandana around his forehead, he went into the hall; sisters and aunts out the ass waiting to tinkle; he ignored them and hurried down the stairs. Not gonna check them out, not gonna think about them, not gonna...aaaaand I'm rushing downstairs to see Leia.

That gave him pause.

She said she needed a favor

(man, that was soooo hot)

And I always cave when a family member needs help. Well...almost always.

(Maybe if you do this favor for her she'll fuck you)

Okay, I'm not doing this shit again.

He turned and started back up the stairs, but instead he found himself going in the opposite direction...into the living room. No, dumbass, wrong way.

But her eyes...and her nails...goddamn it, I can't help myself!

You deserve whatever happens to you today.

I know nothing's going to happen, man...most likely, but there's always a glimmer of hope, isn't there? Maybe, but just that, a thin little glimmer. I won't get my hopes up, I'm just...gonna help my sister. I'm a nice guy, remember? If I can help Loan fix her fubar goddamn X-Box from 2-fucking-001, I can help Leia...with whatever. As long as it doesn't involve spiders; Lemy don't do spiders no matter how much you squirm against his dick and look at him with your big, beautiful, clear, bewitching blue eyes…

In the dining room, Leia was sitting at the table dressed in a pink skirt and a dark gray vest over a white shirt, the collar of the latter flipped over the collar of the former like it was the seventies. For some reason, Lemy thought that shit was hot. If she got a Tina Turner perm he'd nut every time he saw her. *Sung to the tune of I Jizzed in My Pants by The Lonely Island* My sister walked in and I jizzed in my pants.

My beautiful princess of a little sister...so pink...so feminine, so warm and - shut the fuck up, Lemy, you sound like a fag.

He dropped into the chair across from her, and that's when he noticed Lizy sitting next to her; her body was ramrod straight and she was beaming. "Good morning," she said happily.

Aw, man. She's a cute kid and I love her to pieces, but I was hoping to, ya know...be alone...with Leia.

A horrible idea struck him. What if Leia wanted to...include...Lizy?

Fuck that, I'm out.

I'm joking. I know what this is; Leia's buttering me up to get me to help her. And, son of a bitch, it worked.

"Morning," said, his eyes darting from Leia to Lizy and back again. "You, uh, needed me?"

Leia's brows lifted suggestively. "I do," she said.

Lemy gulped. With this much buttering, it's probably a big fucking favor. God, there're spiders, aren't there? Looking at her, though, the glint in her eye, the lavacious upward curl of her lips, her tender, kissable throat...fuck it, man, he'd wade through a fucking sea of spiders.

(Dumbass. You're gonna get rekt and have no one to blame but yourself)

She held his gaze, and he glanced away. "With what?"

"Well," she started, "I'm opening a lemonade stand today, and I need help setting it up." Her voice dripped with faux-sugary sweetness.

(Bitch sounds fake as hell)

"And," she smirked, "with...other things."

(Like getting off?)

Okay, that made him chuckle.

"Lemonade stand, huh?" he asked.

Leia nodded. "Umhm. Lemons." She pronounced the word with agonizing protraction. L-e-m-o-n-s. Lemy watched her lips. His erection was gone, but if she kept it up, it'd come roaring back like a fucking lion. Probably split his pants and spray gunk everywhere too. He saw himself, back thrown back, hands pressed to the sides of his head in a gesture bespeaking madness, his dick swaying back and forth like a lawn sprinkler. I can't help it, I'm so sorry!

He must have made a funny face, because she giggled and leaned over the edge of the table. "Don't you like lemons?"

Lemy shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, I mean, they're okay."

"I like lemons," she said and brushed her lower lip with her teeth. "I like them a lot."

Okay, this was hot and all, but what did lemons have to do with anything? He felt like there was a double entendre in there somewhere, but as far as he knew, lemons were...lemons. Nothing really sexy about them...though if Leia wanted to squeeze lemon juice onto her budding little breasts, he'd gladly…

"C-Cool," he said with a jerky nod.

"I like lemons too," Lizy put in. "They're sour."

Leia's eyes held his captive; he could do nothing but look at her. "Maybe if you're good and do what I say, you'll get a lemon."

Is she using lemon as code for sex or something?

(Dude…)

Shut the fuck up. "Okay. Yeah. Sure. I'll do whatever you want." The shamelessness in his voice made him flinch, but goddamn it, I want a lemon!

(You won't get -)

I said shut your bitch ass up. It's lemon time!

"Good," Leia said and got to her feet. She came around the table, her hand trailing along the surface. She usually wore purple stockings with her outfit, but today her legs were bare, and Lemy's eyes caressed them, from the tops of her pink ankle socks to her knees to the point where her skirt began, them hem rustling against her soft, delicate flesh. Lemy swallowed hard as she sank into the chair facing him. His eyes darted to her skirt; it covered her, damn it, like it was supposed to. "I'm so glad I have a big, strong older brother to help me," she said and laid her hand on his arm. Was he blushing? He felt like he was blushing...like a girl.

Not that he really gave a shit.

(You're gonna get a lemon the way Dad got a lemon - Whoa! *crash*)

She bit her bottom lip again and squeezed his arm. Leaning in, her light perfume scent surrounding him, she batted her eyelashes. "You're really muscular."

His heart was slamming now. Do something or leave me alone already!

"T-Thanks."

"Are you ready to put those muscles to good use?"

He coughed. "Y-You know it."

"Follow me," she said, "to my bedroom."

BEDROOM!

(*Eyeroll*)

"Okay," he and stood up quickly. Leia looked up at him with another one of those cute eyebrow lifts, then trailed her eyes slowly down his body. He followed her gaze, and only then realized her face was level with his crotch. She was staring at it and smirking, which made it twitch.

(Stay down, asshole)

"Those pants look really good on you."

"T-Thanks."

She leaned forward and got to her feet, her back arching and her butt sticking out. Her nose skimmed along his rippling stomach and his pounding chest. She looked up into his face and rose up on her tippy toes. "But they'd look even better on my floor."

Lemy gulped and laughed nervously. "S-S-S-So w-would your s-s-s-skirt."

DId I really just say that? Never reveal your power level, Lem, goddamn.

She giggled and patted his chest. "Come on. I want to get started."

Me too, oh, fuck, me too.

(She's not talking about -)

Shut up, butt-munch, maybe she is.

"We'll be right back," she said to Lizy with a smug hilt, "this won't take long."

"Okay," Lizy piped, "I'll be right here."

Taking Lemy's hand in her own, Leia turned and led him through the living room. His knees were weak and the floor pitched like the deck of a storm-battered freightliner. His eyes went from the nape of her neck to her butt then back again. Man, he was light-headed now, and his balls were full and aching. Yeah, he knew deep down he was gonna get shafted again, but, you know, pessimism aside, there's always a tiny possibility of something going right for once, and if there's even a 0.0000001 percent chance…

Leia guided him into her room and right up to the side of the bed. His eyes went to it; soft pink blankets, pink pillows...her blonde hair would look so fucking hot pooled on pink, so, so fucking good.

She let go of his hand and turned to face him. "Alright," she said and flattened her hands against his chest, "here we are."

"Yeah, here we are," he croaked.

She smiled. "Get on your knees."

M-M-M-Mah knees?

She ran her hands to his shoulders and applied pressure. Downwards. His knees, already quivering, buckled, and he almost fell.

"Hmm," Leia said, "you're a little...shaky."

Lem shrugged.

"Hold onto my hips," she said, then screwed her face up in an expression of concern, "so you don't fall."

She didn't have to tell him twice: He reached out and cupped her hips in his hands; they were soft and fleshy but firm, warm through the fuzzy fabric of her sweater. Blood crashed in his temples and his dick stood to attention like an army recruit in an old war movie. I am Sgt. Hellman, your senior drill instructor…

Aw, man, my airways are closing up. Am I allergic to touching girls? Oh, shit, I bet I am.

"Now," she said, her eyes blazing sinfully, "on your knees...Lemy."

Lemy went to his knees, his eyes never leaving Leia's. Now he was the one at crotch level, and it may have been his imagination, but he could smell her the way he smelled Liena the other night; a warm, dank perfume that made every muscle in his body spasm at once.

She favored him with a smug look.

_Paper_

_Or plastic_

_Don't matter_

_She'll have it_

"You can take your hands off my hips now," she said, her voice a whisper. He pulled them away, but she clamped them under hers and cocked her head.

_Vacations and shopping sprees_

_These are a few of her favorite things_

She pushed his hands slowly down the outsides of her thighs; he could feel her shape and curves through the thin material of her skirt. "Like that," she breathed.

Lemy nodded.

She took her hands away and he slid his palms down onto her bare legs, his hands shaking when they touched her warm, velvety flesh. She hummed and threaded her fingers through his hair.

_She'll get what she wants if she's willing to please_

_His type of girl always comes with a fee_

_Hey now, there's nothing for free_

Her nails grazed his scalp and he fought to regulate his breathing. His fingers kissed the backs of her legs fleetingly, his thumbs tracing the bone in front - whatever it's called, he didn't know. At that moment, he had no past, no future, all that existed was the girl in front of him - her heat, her body, her smell...in his nose, in his mouth, everywhere.

_Girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money_

_Boys will laugh at girls when they're not funny_

His fingers ran through his hair and she purred deeply; his thumbs brushed her kneecaps, then he was stroking down her slender calves. She threw her head back and moaned. "Oh, Lemy."

_And these girls like these boys, like these boys like these girls_

_The girls with the bodies like boys with Ferraris_

_Girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money_

He reached her ankles; he was so hard it made him wince and his body was so hot he was surprised his clothes hadn't caught fire.

"Okay," she said and slipped her fingers out of his hair, "now...for something else."

_All of these boys, and all of these girls_

_Losing their souls in a material world_

_All of these boys, and all of these girls_

_Losing their souls in a material world_

She bent down until the tip of her nose was bare inches from his own. Her eyes sparkled with a ribald brilliance, and her lips were arranged in a sharp, sly smile.

Lemy caught his breath. "A-Anything," he said. He would do anything for his princess, his queen, his goddess, his sexy little sister...

"Reach under the bed...and grab the folding table."

_All of these boys, and all of these girls_

_Losing their souls in a material world_

_All of these boys, and all of these girls_

_Losing their souls in a material world_

He nodded. "O-Okay."

She stepped back and crossed her arms. The condescension on her face was really fucking hot: She was like Helen of Troy and he a lucky bastard of a foot soldier permitted to bask in her presence. If she asked him to fall on his knees and worship her, he would; it she asked him to kiss her feet, his lips would linger; if she asked him to walk a thousand miles on the razor's edge...brother, you got a Band-Aid?

Her brows lifted, this time in pique. "I'm waiting."

Lemy got down on his stomach and peered under the bed: He saw the table lying flat next to a box. He glanced up at his queen for guidance (this table, your majesty?), and she tilted her head forward. "Yes," she said haughtily.

I can't believe I'm doing this, and I can't believe I'm fucking into it. What's wrong with me? He reached under and dragged the table out, then looked at Leia. "Here," he said.

She giggled, a mocking edge in her voice. "I'm not carrying it downstairs. You are."

Oh. Right. Duh.

He got to his feet, picked it up under one arm, and passed Leia on his way out; her eyes flicked to his butt and her eyebrows waggled. She followed him down the stairs. "Out the front door."

Lemy opened it and went out into the bright August day, his eyes squinting against he glare of the sun. He walked at a crouch because his dick was making a tent in the front of his pants. "Over by the sidewalk," Leia said and pointed.

Lemy carried the table over, dropped it, and knelt to unfold the legs. Leia came over like a middle-manager and crossed her arms. Lemy was hyper aware of her presence, of her eyes on him, searching for faults and finding him unworthy...but perhaps salvageable. Her eyes outlined the flexing muscles in his arms, and her stomach panged with desire. She squeezed her legs together and hummed. Teasing him was a lot more fun than she thought it would be.

When Lizy called out from the front porch, Leia turned. "Do you want me to bring the stuff out?"

"Yes," she called back. She stole a glance over her shoulder; Lemy was staring at her butt from the corner of his eye, and she smiled. Taking a step back, she bent forward, the toes of her right foot pressing into the ground and her heel lifting. "Just bring it all."

Lemy swallowed and licked his chops. Her ass was right there, man, so close he could feel the butterfly kiss of her wind-rippled skirt against his cheek. She took another half step, and it touched him; from the smoldering heat, he could only assume that she still wasn't wearing any underwear.

His chest crushed.

Could he sneak a peek?

He'd have to be mad careful, though. Or maybe not. She was kind of throwing herself at him...and that was such a fucking turn on, by the way, even if it didn't lead anywhere. She bent even more. "And Lizy?"

"Yeah?"

All he had to do was turn his head and lift her skirt...and her ass would be bared for him. He could grip her hips and kiss it all over, moving her around until he was kissing something else...

"Make sure to bring two chairs. One for you and one for me. Lemy won't need one; he can sit on the ground."

(Fuck you, bitch)

(Yes, your highness)

"Okay!" Lizy called.

He swallowed and started to reach for her skirt, intent on seeing her butt come hell or high water, but she whipped around and stepped back, her arms crossing uppishly. She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "I thought I told you to set the table up."

(Fuck your table)

(She's treating me like dirt and I like it - God, I'm so fucked up)

Part of him wanted o stand up and tell her off, but he ignored it. He could do it if he wanted to...but he didn't want to.

"Sorry," he muttered, then returned to the task at hand.

"Sorry what?"

His brow furrowed. "Uh...ma'am?"

"No," she said, stretching it out. Nooo-ooo.

He glanced up at her. "What?"

She looked down her nose at him as though he were a bug. Usually this would make him cry like a bitch, but now...from her… "Say my name."

"Leia?"

Her smile widened and her cheeks turned pink. "Good. Now hurry up. Time is money."

* * *

In the early morning hours, with faint hints of the coming down coloring the eastern sky, Lacy Loud made a decision.

She sat up in bed as she had most of the night, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms hugging her legs. She wore only a red T-shirt two sizes too big, a pair of white panties, and white socks. Her face was wan in the cold light of the moon, her eyes two pools of simmering darkness. Every so often, she shivered as if with cold, and sometimes, she drew a wet sigh so full of misery that none but the heartless could remain unaffected by if they heard it. She was obviously a girl in pain.

During her thin, fitful pre midnight slumber, she dreamed of things she couldn't recall, things that weighed heavy on her chest when she came awake. She tried to think rationally, to detach herself from the problem in order to better see and solve it, but she couldn't; she was tangled like a fish in a net, and the more she flopped in search of escape, the more hopelessly knotted she became.

Each time she made love to her father, he declared his love for her, and she could see it in his eyes: A shining adoration that knew no bounds, no end. That love meant the world to her and always had, even though deep down she knew that her love wasn't the same. It was a daughter's love for her father, nothing more...she thought. It was so hard to separate your feelings when you were both a daughter and a lover. It was hard to separate his feelings, too. That love she saw...was it for her as his child or was it more? If it was, how could she tell him that she didn't feel that way for him...but did for Lemy? She didn't want to hurt him any more than she wanted to hurt Lemy, but because she let herself give into her feelings yesterday, because she kissed her brother with all her heart, soul, and passion, someone was going to be hurt. They had to be.

Right?

Or was she wrong?

Lemy was hurt, but would Dad be, or would he be okay with it?

There's only one way to find out, Lace, a voice said from the middle of her head. It sounded vaguely like her mother. Fitting, since Mom always gave her pep talks. Run faster, hit harder, play better, was one of her mantras, and Lacy did her best to live it, but while she liked to think she was better at sports than her mother was, she knew that she wasn't, and that Mom was disappointed in her.

In fact, the faux-Mom voice in her head sounded disappointed too.

I knooow, but I already messed things up, I don't want to make it worse. What if he gets mad at me...or Lemy?

A thousand things could happen...and almost all of them scared her shitless.

Woman up and do it. You can't be Daddy's little girl forever.

Heh. That's something else her mother always said. Sometimes she thought Mom was jealous of her for being with Dad; she'd catch Mom looking at them when they snuggled on the couch, and the disdain was clear on her face. If Mom wanted Dad, she could have him. Lacy wanted Lemy. Or she thought she did. She didn't know: She was so confused she barely knew which way was up. What if...what if she didn't really? Hurting Dad would be all for nothing.

Again and again throughout the long, torturous night, her mind flashed back to the park; her hand on Lemy's cheek and her heart slamming a crazy, staggering beat; his brown eyes so full of love...and sadness; the slow joining of their lips, eah drawn as if by magnetism to the other; the way his breath filled her mouth and chest, so warm and fragrant; the taste of his tongue as it moved in slow, clumsy union with hers. Each time she went to that special place, an iron band tightened around her and gnawing teeth gnashed in the pit of her stomach, so strong at times that she doubled over.

She never felt this for Dad; why was she feeling it for Lemy? She tried and failed a million times to find the answer, and the night moved ever on, the gibbous moon arched through the night sky, its skeletal face cloaked in tattered gray like rotted graveyard shrouds. The light changed, beams of white creeping across the wall and eventually withdrawing in the face of the coming dawn. Birds stirred into tentative song, and the sky lightened from dark blue to purple and finally to fiery orange. When it was full light, she made her decision. She was going to woman up and talk to Dad...lay her cards on the table for better or worse.

Oh, but she didn't want to...how she didn't want to.

But her heart wanted what it wanted, and she was powerless to resist its gravitational pull; it is easier to capture the wind or to still the tide than it is to dissuade a heart that is set. Hers was set on Lemy, and as she slipped out of bed and made her way through the sleeping house to the bathroom, she resolved that she would soon have him.

How soon, she couldn't say - she wasn't keen on possibly shattering her father's heart. But, Lacy, she could hear an army of sister-hating Lemyfags saying, you hurt Lemy. I know! Don't rub it in. I really didn't mean to. I...I'm weak, okay? I wasn't thinking clearly. I...I knew before I went down that trail after him that something would probably happen, the kiss didn't just happen out of the blue, but I was...my head was in the clouds and it wasn't until I was kissing him that what I was doing really hit me...until I realized that if I didn't stop, I was going to lay back and let him have me, and you don't let someone have you when someone else has you, right?

In the bathroom, she stripped out of her clothes, turned the water on, and adjusted the temperature to her liking, then climbed in. She washed slowly, languidly, letting the steam and hot water soothe her fraying nerves. Her mind wandered, and for a short time she found respite from the constant harruaging thoughts.

By the time she was done, the others were beginning to line up in the hall. Clad in the shirt and panties she wore to bed, she went to her room while drying her hair with a towel. She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and turned her head just as Liby looked away, a sour expression on her face. When she told her about kissing Lemy, she got up and virtually ran from the room. Lacy figured she was upset with her for cheating on Dad, and that made her feel even worse.

In her room, she changed into a pair of jean shorts and one of her many red Number 2 shirts. Two had always been her number because she was her mother's daughter and Mom was Number 1. In her darker moments, however, she suspected that Mom really thought she was second best...that she would never be as good as her.

And maybe she was right.

Downstairs, she grabbed a sports bar from the pantry and ate it while leaning against the counter, her mind turning inevitably toward Lemy and the coming 'talk' with Dad. Her stomach turned and she sighed, bits of granola flying from her mouth and spraying the floor.

She needed to get her mind off of it, and in her experience the best way to get your mind off of something is to play a sport. Football, baseball, soccer, it doesn't matter so long as you are doing and your mind is elsewhere. She threw the remains of the sports bar into the trash and went out the back door. She did not hear Leia and Lizy enter the dining room, and by the time Lemy appeared, she was already lost in the wide world of soccer.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, Liby Loud hated more than making complex plans only to overlook one crucial detail, especially when that detail was so obvious, so innate, so glaring.

She worked on it most of the night, sitting at her desk by the soft white light of a lamp and staring absently out the window, her chin resting in her upturned palm and her strained expression belying the raging tempest in her heart and mind. Occasionally she would tap her index finger against her cheek, and once or twice she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, but otherwise she was still, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only movement in the room other than Lyra's bi hourly toss and turn. She conjured and rejected a thousand different ideas, investigated and abandoned a thousand courses of action. The simplest plan, she found, was the best: Manipulate Lacy's preexisting guilt at having 'cheated' on Dad to drive her away from Lemy. It was the same concept as jamming the flat of a crowbar into a fissure that's already on a door you want to open. How she would go about doing this, she wasn't sure. It would probably be best to approach Lacy directly and talk to her - I'm not mad at you, but I can't believe you cheated on Dad like that. You need to forget Lemy.

It should go without saying that she stopped to wonder if she was going too far; Lacy was really broken up about what happened. Making her feel even worse...it didn't sit well with Liby, but not having Lemy sat even more unwell with her. Let's face it, if it came down to a fair competition, Lemy would pick Lacy in a heartbeat: Lacy wasn't a beauty queen, but she was pretty enough. What was Liby? She had an overbite, braces, and looked like a chipmunk. That might serve her well as Mystery Girl - who expects a girl in braces to be the most hard boiled gumshoe in town? - but she knew she wasn't attractive. She also wasn't fun like Lacy. Lacy had a way of making the room light up when she walked in; she didn't...she was simply there, like furniture.

This was all the chance she had...desperate times call for desperate measures, the end justifies the means...she would feel guilty, but falling asleep in Lemy's arms at night would get her through.

She sighed dreamily as she spun warm visions of them together, clinging to each other in the night, kissing, touching, stroking, making love...it made her feel warm all over. She could be his, he could be hers, and they could live happily ever after, amen.

Only there was something in the back of her mind, a niggling, like the beat of insect wings. If you've ever found yourself wondering if you turned the stove off before you left the house, you'll know what she felt. A vague sense of disquiet. There was a flaw in her rationale...a fatal flaw. If she sent it out to sea in this shape, it would capsize and sink, and all hands would be lost.

Hm...what was it, though? She ran it through her mind again. It wasn't perfect, but no plan ever is. As far as she could tell, though, there was nothing major. Still, that niggle in the back of her skull. There had to be a weak spot she wasn't seeing.

Toward dawn, it hit her. Lacy wasn't stupid. Once she saw her and Lemy together, she'd know...and Liby wasn't planning on keeping her relationship a dirty little secret; she was very much looking forward to cuddling with him on the couch and stuff.

Okay, could she dissuade Lacy in a more subtle manner?

She wracked her brain, but couldn't come with anything. She was The Mystery Girl, damn it, her wits were razor sharp, she could always make a clean sneak, why not now?

Looks like there's going to be a fight either way, so why not just go for it? Lacy had her chance yesterday and she blew it. Now's my time.

Only something was stopping her: Sudden onset guilt. In her line of work, you had to be able to put yourself in someone else's shoes (how would Johnny Two-Thumbs react to this? Where would he hide?). All night, her mind and heart had been racing, but now that she stopped long enough to investigate that suspicious niggle, her conscious was catching up. If it was her, watching Lacy with Lemy...holding his hand, kissing him, using his lap as a pillow... would rip her heart out; she'd cry herself to sleep every night and slouch through every day like a zombie, knowing that someone else had what she so desperately wanted, that someone else was as happy as she was sad.

What could she do, though?

Share?

Sigh.

It works with Dad.

True, but she didn't know how. Her mother and each one of her aunts loved her father just as much as she loved Lemy (okay, maybe a little more). When you love someone that much, how can you stand to see them with someone else?

She tried to imagine seeing constant sorrow in Lacy's eyes, and her heart twinged. Two days ago she blackmailed Lemy to help her, and at the end, when she apologized, she told him that when she got overwhelmed, she went a little crazy...and that was true. In the dawn's early light, she realized that she was doing it again...going mad as a hatter and acting like a self-centered bitch.

But I love Lemy.

Lacy does too. Come on, you're sisters. You can work something out.

Well...maybe. She'd have to think about it.

Later, she was waiting in line for the bathroom when Lacy came out; she couldn't help a glower. Why do you have to like him too? Why can't I just have him to myself?

In the shower, she pondered the matter more deeply. If Lacy was willing to share Lemy, she would be too. She wouldn't be entirely happy with the arrangement, but it was better than breaking her sister's heart and sowing animosity in her home. And who knows, maybe Lacy's guilt combined with finding out Liby liked Lemy too would encourage her to back off on her own.

She perked up.

Done, she wrapped a towel around herself and went into her room, where she dressed in a skirt and blouse. Voices drifted through the open window, and she went over to see what was happening: Lemy was kneeling by the curb and unfolding the legs of a table. Leia faced the house, talking to someone (Lizy?). She was bent slightly forward, her hands on her hips in a supercilious gesture. Her butt was dangerously close to Lemy's face, blocking it from view. Move so I can see him.

Instead of moving, the little girl turned; now she blocked Lemy entirely. "I thought I told you to set the table up."

Liby turned away. She had more important things to do than Lemy-watch (that came later); she had to find Lacy and get this done and over with.

She found her in the backyard kicking a soccer ball, her feet shuffling and her head down. She watched her for a long time, trying to imagine sharing Lemy with her. How would it work? Would each of them get a set number of days? Would they grab him whenever they felt like cuddling or having sex?

Hm, the latter wouldn't work very well, they were bound to step on each other's toes. Set days struck her as the best option, though even that wasn't perfect.

Sigh.

Lacy kicked the ball hard against the fence, and it shot back. She put her head down and tried to hit it, but it sailed past her. She turned, saw Liby, and hesitated.

"We need to talk," Liby said.

Lacy stare at her for a moment, trepidation creeping into her face. "About what?"

"Lemy."

Lacy hung her head. "I know what you're going to say -"

"No you don't, Liby said. She went to the top of the porch steps and sat down. Taking her cue, Lacy came over and sat next to her.

"I know it was messed up that I kissed him," she said, "but -"

"I like Lemy too."

Lacy's head whipped around. "You what?"

Liby nodded. "I like him too."

For a moment Lacy simply gaped at her, then she hung her head again. "Well that sucks," she said defeatedly.

Hm. Liby was kind of expecting her to fly off the handle; like her mother, Lacy had something of a temper. "Yeah," she agreed, "it does. When you told me yesterday I almost cried." She flushed at that admission, but being open and honest right now was for the best.

"I'm almost crying now," Lacy said, and indeed she sounded it. She slipped her fingers into her hair and pressed the heels of her palms against her temples. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "How long?"

Liby considered for a moment. "Since school let out."

"Same," Lacy said dully. She turned her head to Liby and regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "Is this going to be a problem?"

There was a challenging note in her voice that Liby didn't like. She swallowed a barbed retort and met her sister's gaze directly. "That depends. First...what are you going to do about it? Are you going to pursue him?"

"Yes I am," Lacy said, then her eyes darted away. "After I talk to Dad."

Liby almost rolled her eyes. "Okay," she said at length, "are you willing to share?"

Lacy blinked. "Share?" She tasted the word as though it were strange and not exactly palpable.

In the distance, a car backfired, and a cloud passed in front of the sun, momentarily casting the day in darkness. "Yes," Liby said, "share. Like they do with Dad."

Lacy started to speak, but stopped. "N-Not really."

Well, I can't say I'm surprised. "I don't want to either, Lace, but we both like Lemy and it's either that or we fight each other every step of the way. I don't want to do that...but I will if I have to. We can make this work. It won't be perfect, but it's better than one of us getting hurt. I was...I was going to take him for myself, but I knew how much it would break your heart and I couldn't."

Lacy's expression softened, and she turned away, her eyes focusing on the fence. Liby waited with bated breath to see what it was going to be: Share or every girl for herself. "I guess it's not so bad," Lacy said hesitantly, and Liby let out a metaphorical sigh of relief. "Mom and everyone else seem to be okay."

Liby nodded. "Yeah, and it's just the two of us, so it'll be easier."

"Alright," Lacy said, then turned. "I need to talk to Dad first, though. Maybe you don't feel like this is cheating, but I do and I want to make things right. If I can."

"I don't see it as cheating. He has all of us plus his sisters. How would it be fair for him to expect us to be loyal to one man when he won't be loyal to one woman? I doubt he'll be upset, though, you know him, he's not...like possessive or anything."

Dad was not perfect (no one ever is) but he was not a petty man, nor was he a hypocrite. Liby was almost certain that he would accept their relationship with Lemy. If, that is, they even had one. They were each acting as though it were a foregone conclusion he would gladly be with them.

"I just don't want to hurt him. I love him...but not like that."

Liby nodded. "Neither do I. I am in love with Lemy and I'm going to follow my heart whether Dad likes it or not." She turned to Lacy. "When are you going to talk to him?"

"Soon."

"Good" Liby said, "because I don't want to wait much longer."

Lacy sighed. Neither did she.

Neither did she.


	9. Tease

**Lyrics to Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be by AC/DC (1977)**

Lemy patted the chest pocket of his vest for the hundredth time since coming back outside from his 'bathroom break.' The joint was still there, still waiting to be taken out, put between his lips, and sparked.

He was sitting Indian style in the grass next to Leia's chair like a loyal dog, and if she didn't keep throwing him bones in the form of uppity-yet-sexy glances, he would have blown this lemonade stand an hour ago. Not only was it hot as fuck out here, he was the one stuck making deliveries and doing the BS grunt work. Seriously, who the fuck calls a kid's lemonade stand and places an order for delivery? Are people that fucking lazy now? No wonder people get so damn fat; you see them cutting apartment buildings open to get to those My 600 Pound Life types all the time. Crazy. He turned to his sister: She sat prim and proper behind the table, her pigtails fluttering in the breeze. His eyes went down to her legs: Her skirt rested just above her knees. He wanted to reach out and stroke her outer thigh so bad it made him faint.

You know what? She let me do it earlier.

He extended a tentative hand, stopped, flickered his eyes to her profile...then brushed the back of his hand fleetingly across her flesh. She jumped and whipped her head around, and Lemy yanked his hand bac before he lost it. "Did I say you could touch me?"

"N-No."

"Then don't touch me," she spat.

"Sorry," he said. Why was she so fucking hot when she was mad and uppity? Maybe it was the unspent load in his balls clouding his judgement, but goddamn, he wanted his queen to put him in his place; he wanted her to make him kiss her feet and shit.

Instead of doing any of that stuff, she stared ahead, occasionally turning and speaking to Lizy, who sat next to her. With each movement, her skirt rustled, and Lemy prayed for a fucking glimpse of her, but never got one. Just one, man, just one..

He patted his vest again; it was still there. Maybe he should...

"Now you may touch me," Leia said. Lemy glanced up at her; she still faced forward, her hands laced on top of the table and her head tilted slightly back, lending her a regal appearance. His eyes went to her legs and his dick, hitherto limp, sprang back to life. Still in the game! He scooted closer and lifted his shaky hand. Leia looked at him from the corner of her eye, and the corner of her lips formed an evil smile. "Touch me, Lemy."

Man, are there any more beautiful three words in the English language? No! He laid his palm on her knee, and his dick did the whole throbby/leaky thing. Leia purred and, emboldened, he ran his hand up her leg, the soft material of her skirt brushing against it. He watched her face for cues; he sure as fuck couldn't listen for them with the way blood crashed in his ears. He pushed her skirt up and stroked his fingers along the inside of her thigh. He was inches from her vagina, her pulsing heat burning his skin like standing next to a raging fire. Was his little sister turned on, or was she always an oven?

Leia's pink, wet tongue darted out and moistened her lips. Her cheeks were red and her eyes half-lidded. Holy shit, brah, she likes it!

I know I've said 'his dick was harder than it ever was before' a couple times (call me Tony "every Monday night is the most explosive night in the history of our sport" Schiavone), but this time I'm serious. His glowing hot skin was so tight against his member that a grimace of pain crossed his face. It was gonna rip...rip right the fuck off and his dick would be a a quivering, bloody mass of nerves and cartilage. He didn't care, though; it would be worth it.

Then his fingertips smeared something slick and sticky across her flesh and his heart stopped. Oh, shit, is...is that girl cum? Holy mother of fuck, I'm touching girl cum...I'm making a girl cum!

When she spoke, he sputtered. "Hm, too high, Lemy."

Huh? Too high?

She turned her head and looked down at him, a queen from her throne. "Too high," she repeated, her brows lifting.

More like not high enough. One more stroke and he'd be at the source of her heat, his fingers slipped between her tacky folds.

"Stop touching me, Lemy," she said huskily, patiently.

Lemy let out a shuddery breath and pulled his hand back with the reluctance of...I don't fucking know, man, he just really didn't want to stop. He rested his hands in his lap and trembled; he was fevered, his body wracked with chills. His breathing was heavy and short. He was fucking sprung af in other words, and he didn't know how much more he could take; if this kept up, he'd bend Leia over that table and fuck her silly whether she wanted him too or not.

Don't rape your sister, man; you have plenty enough reason to hate yourself already.

Oh, yeah, the lust is clouding my judgement. I wouldn't do that, but, man, I'm going crazy down here, losing my mind. I feel like a freight train going off the rails and when I crash, man, it's gonna be big. I need to get up, go jack it, and stay the fuck away from this little devil bitch for the rest of the day.

He glanced at her. So soft, so pretty, so girly.

Yeah...maybe later.

He looked down at his hands...then remembered. I touched her cum. He lifted his fingers to his face and studied them; they glimmered in the light of the sun, her juice a thin, translucent sheen. Oh, dude...oh, my dude, that's hot. He stole a furtive glance at her to make sure she wasn't watching, then lifted them to his nose and took a deep whiff. Her scent was dank and wild, like a bitch in heat, a pretty, pink, princess bitch. Oh, fuck, man, fuck.

Without a care in the world, he shoved his fingers into his mouth. Salty...sweet...his tongue lapped each finger slowly, relishingly. When Leia spoke, he froze.

"How do I taste?"

Busted.

He didn't care; he wanted her to see him, wanted her to know he was licking her off and swallowing her. He took his digits out of his mouth and licked his lips. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze as he replied, though. "Really good."

She made an egotistical hmph noise. "I know."

That was all.

Damn. He was hoping she'd say something about getting to taste more later.

For a while, he sat there, trying to will his hard-on away and failing. Think about something unsexy...like Mama Juicy naked.

Ugh.

Sweat glistening in fat rolls, thick layer of all-over body hair, the smell of mildew, unwashed crotch, and dirty armpits, tits sagging down to her stomach, big black bush looking like Michael Jackson's head circa 1970.

His dick softened...but just a little.

"Lemy?" Leia said, and his heart twisted.

Yes, my princess?

"Y-Yeah?" he asked and looked up.

Her eyes were seductively half-lidded. "Go inside and get me and Lizy a chocolate bar. We're hungry."

"I want dark chocolate!" Lizy piped.

Leia grinned. "I'll have mine with nuts."

Lemy faltered. N-Nuts? Like my nuts?

Man, I said I wouldn't get my hopes up, but look at her; those bedroom eyes, the cum on her thighs, that blush on her cheeks...she wants it, man...she wants me! She has to. God, a girl - and fucking Leia at that - wants me to dick her. Holy mother fuck, holy mother fuck, deep breath, deep breath.

"Now," she said. Her voice wasn't sharp, it was soft, low, slurry with need.

Lemy jumped to his feet. "Okay."

Her eyes went to his crotch and her grin got bigger. Lemy followed her gaze and, hey, look, Lemy Jr.'s pointing at you like a possessive finger. That means he likes you, sis. She looked up at him with smug satisfaction. "Maybe later."

Lemy's heart dropped.

Really?

Holy shit!

"Now go get me my chocolate."

Yes, ma'am!

Leia watched him go, or rather his cute little butt. She clamped down on her lower lip and turned away, her thighs rubbing together of their own accord, creating hot, mind-numbing friction.

Hmmm. She knew she'd get turned on teasing him - she always did - but not like this; she felt like she was literally smoldering, and her pussy...ohmigod, squishy. Her original plan was to leave him hanging at the end of the day (because how hot is that?), but with the way he touched her...and looked at her...and obeyed every single word...and that boner in his pants...plans might have to change.

Might.

While she waited for her, um, big brother to get back, a man in a suit came up and stood on the business end of the table, his eyes flicking down to the hand lettered sign taped to the edge. Black Sharpie on hot pink. "How much?" he asked as if the prices weren't cleary labeled.

"Five dollars," Leia said.

His eyes widened. "Five dollars? That's highway robbery."

"I have a lot of overhead," Leia said, "and I pay my employees minimum wage."

Lizy nodded eagerly, then when Leia wasn't looking she shook her head. "No she doesn't," she mouthed.

The man made a thoughtful humming sound. "I still say that's too much for a cup of lemonade."

Leia sighed. "Fine, three-fifty."

"Now that I can do," he said, taking out his wallet.

When he was gone, Leia counted the money, the way it felt in her hands increasing her arousal, then shoved it into a metal lockbox. "Sucker."

Lizy turned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh...aren't you the sucker? You gave it to him for cheaper."

"No, I'm the genius. See, honey, this is how it goes: That glass of lemonade was worth two bucks tops. I jacked the price up so that when anyone complains, I can 'lower' it to three fifty. They'll either think they're getting a deal or feel sorry because I was desperate enough to come down." She giggled girlishly. "Oldest trick in the book."

In the kitchen, Lemy rummaged through the pantry. Where the fuck are those chocolate bars? He was starting to panic, because if he went out there empty-handed Leia was going to be pissed and his chances of doing her were down the fucking drain. Flashing, he shoved a box of cheese crackers out of the way. C'mon, c'mon, can't something go right for me for once?

That's when he saw them. Oh, cool. He grabbed two and started to close the door.

"Hey, son."

Then he tensed.

Of all the people he wanted to see or talk to right now, his old man was dead last. Alright, maybe John Wayne Gacy was last (serial killer who raped and murdered young boys, keep up), but Dad wasn't too far ahead. Then again, what was that stoned shit he was talking last night about letting go?

"Hey," he said and shut the door, but didn't turn.

"How's it going?" From the sound of it, Dad was crossing to the fridge. The door opened, and Lemy glanced over his shoulder; Pop grabbed a soda and opened it, then turned.

Lemy nodded awkwardly. "It's, uh, it's good."

Dad took a drink and leaned against the counter. "Good. I saw you helping Leia. Selling lots of lemonade?"

Really, man? I got a girl out there leaking down her fucking legs and you wanna make small talk? You like blue-balling me, don't you? Fucking assmunch. Imma start calling you The Cuckmaster General. "Yeah, kinda, I guess." I don't know, I'm not paying attention to that shit.

"That's good," Dad said, then glanced at his feet. Lemy started to leave, but Dad looked back up and stopped him. "I was hoping we could do something later. You know, just me and you."

You picked a real bad time to wanna hang, Pop. "I can't," he said, "I gotta help Leia."

"Oh," Dad said, and Lemy thought he detected a hint of disappointment. Ha, shoe's on the other foot, bitch. "Alright. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

Lemy hurried outside before Dad could try to cuck him more; in the short time he was in the air conditioned house, he forgot how fucking hot it was out here. Almost as hot as Leia's pussy.

Hmmm, God, how would it feel on his dick? Probably like slowly sinking himself into boiling oil. He could hear Leia gasping now; throwing her head back and rocking her hips up, pressing them against his, sheathing him to the hilt, her pink little nails digging into his shoulders…

AHHHHH, I'm gonna fucking bust right here!

Thinking of Mama Juicy again and trying to ignore the unpleasant stickiness slathering the inside of his pants, he went over to the table; Leia was taking a crisp five dollar bill from an old woman and nodding her thanks while Lizy poured lemonade into a plastic cup. The old woman took it in one trembling hand, smiled, and shuffled off. Lemy was standing over Leia now, his tent thiiiiis close to brushing her arm. She pointedly ignored him. "Leia?"

She turned to Lizy. "She was nice."

Lizy nodded. "I liked her cane. It had a dragon on it."

"Of course you'd like that," Leia said.

Really? He didn't know whether to be offended or turned on. Ignore me, your highness...then grant me passage to your royal womb. He tapped her shoulder with one of the chocolate bars.

"It was cool,' Lizy said in self-defense.

"No it wasn't," Leia argued. "Now if it was a dollar sign…"

An idea struck Lemy. Uh...should I? The way she's been acting, man, that's probably what she wants. And if it's not, what's she going to do if it's not, yell at me and call me gross? Eh, it's okay when she does it.

He rocked his hips forward and poked her arm with his boner. She turned in a swish of golden hair, her eyes going from it to his eyes. "Oh, hi, Lemy," she said and batted her eyelashes, "I didn't hear you come up. Did you do what I told you?"

Lemy nodded. "Uh, yeah," he said and held the chocolate bars up, "two."

They looked at each other for a moment. Her eyes were the deepest, crystalline blue, a Rocky Mountain pond that reflects the sky like glass. Her pupils were dark and dilated, bottomless fonts of mystery and darkness. "Give it to me," she said and smirked. She was talking about the chocolate...he thought.

He swallowed thickly and held them out. She plucked them from his hand. "Thank you, Lemy."

"Y-You're welcome."

They stared at one another. Lemy had that same feeling he had with Lacy yesterday..like he was about to fall into her eyes.

"Sit down now, Lemy."

Lemy dropped to his ass, and Leia's sharp, closed-lipped smile grew tenfold, as though she were pleased. Lemy wasn't as dumb as a lotta people make him out to be, he knew she was getting off on wielding power over him or something, and that was fine, because for whatever god forsaken reason, he was getting off on it too. Yeah, man, I really am a masochist. Christ on his throne, man, leave it to me to develop some weird fucking embarrassing kink or fetish. God forbid I be a normal dude...noooo, I gotta like wearing leather face masks or some shit and having by ass beaten with a garden hose while being called mean names and having my dick in one of those fucking dick-clamps.

He patted his pocket. His joint was still there. Wonder if Leia wants to blaze? His friends at school said it makes girls horny.

Ooooh, but Leia was already horny. She was a dirty little princess. She looked sweet and wholesome on the outside, but get her alone in her bedchambers and she pounces like a tigress for the kill. He could see her springing at him, knocking him back onto the mattress and mawing him with her pretty pink glossed lips, her fingernails raking his bare chest from his throat all the way to the waistband of his jeans. Then she hooks her fingers in and pulls them down, slowly until his dick pops out and she wraps her hand around it…

Lemy bit his knuckle so goddamn hard it nearly came off.

"Lemy?"

Lemy turned his head. Leia broke a piece of chocolate off and held it out to him. He reached for it, but she snatched it back. "No," she said like a master to a disobedient dog, "use your mouth."

"O-Okay."

He leaned over, but before he could get it, she snatched it back and shoved it into her mouth with a giggle. She tilted toward him. "You don't get any," she said with a mocking hilt. Okay, I didn't particularly want any, but using my mouth to take it outta your hand...hmmm. That I did, so…

"I'll share wih you, Lemy," Lizy said. She was leaning back in her chair and looking at him behind Leia. She broke off a piece and held it out. "Don't use your mouth, though." The pure, innocent way she said it made him snicker. I wasn't going to. He reached out and took it.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she chirped.

Leia looked at him as though she wanted to say something, but turned away again. He pushed the chocolate past his lips and chewed it slowly, his eyes glued to her legs. Maybe he could…

She caught him reaching out. "You are not allowed to touch me right now," she snapped.

"Okay."

She pursed her lips and lifted her brows. "Okay what?"

His heart throbbed. "Leia."

No word, no name, had ever felt better on his lips, had ever sounded sweeter to his ears. Such a beautiful name...such a beautiful girl...such a beautiful little sister. "Leia," he repeated.

"Say it again," she said lowly.

He was starting to feel brave: He stared directly into her eyes. "Leia." He drew it out. L-e-i-a. Sparks of pleasure shot down his spine as it rolled off his tongue like warm honey. He suspected that if he spoke it too much, he would become drunk on her like a man on wine.

Fire burned in her eyes and on her cheeks. "Again."

"Leia."

She shook her head slowly. "Don't touch me, Lemy," she said softly, "you haven't earned it yet."

Lemy nodded.

"Apologize."

"Sorry, Leia."

She considered him for a minute, then nodded. "I forgive you." She turned away, laid her forearms against the edge of the table, and laced her fingers. She looked like an attentive school girl listening closely to her teacher's instructions, and that image made Lemy want to take her into the janitor's closet and rut into her like a wild animal.

"Ew gross."

She was looking at her fingers with something like horror; they were smeared brown with chocolate. "Don't worry," Lizy said, "I have baby wipes." She twisted around and started to reach into her pocket, but Leia waved a dismissive hand.

And looked at Lemy.

She stuck out her hand, palm facing up. "Lick it off."

Lemy's eyes widened. "Uh, what?"

"LIck. It. Off."

Lemy met her unwavering gaze, and she lifted her brow again as if to say I'm waiting. Is she serious? Does she really want me to lick her hand? Because if she does, man, I totally will; I'm so fucking sprung right now I have no shame. I'm so hot, man, I'd lick the dirt off her feet, I'd shit off her ass hole…

...okay, I'm not that turned of, but you know what I'm saying. Or do you? When I get really hot, my thinking kind of clouds. Things that sound nasty af when I'm down sound fucking amazing when I'm up, like a girl sucking me off then kissing me with her mouth still full of jizz. Ew, Lemy, you're disgusting. I know, but right now, if Leia had my cum dripping down her chin I'd shove my tongue into her mouth and spin it around like a tornado, you know, to make sure I got every last drop.

"Are you just going to sit there looking stupid or are you going to clean my hand?" Leia asked sharply.

Lemy swallowed. He guessed he was going to clean her hand...and enjoy every last fucking second of it.

He scooted closer and looked at her for guidance. She nodded curtly. Alright then, uh, I guess, I, uh, I'm doing this. He cupped the back of her hand in his palm, his fingers dancing over her wrist. He drew it close and inspected it: Streaks of chocolate painted her porcelain flesh brown. He bent his neck forward; his heart was knocking like Dave Edmunds and his guts twisted. "Go on," Leia said impatiently.

Okay. Here goes. He touched the tip of his tongue to her skin and flicked it across one of the stains. The sweet taste of chocolate and the salty taste of sweat filled his mouth, and he couldn't suppress a moan of delight. He flattened his tongue against her hand and lapped deeply, like the dog he was. Leia sighed beautifully, and his passion began to grow; his lips brushed her thumb, and he took it into his mouth, the curled tip of his tongue swirling around it and his lips moving up and down. It occurred to him that he was basically sucking a dick or something, but he didn't care; she was breathing heavy now and his dick was leading him like a divining rod. Getting to his knees, he spat her thumb out and did the same for each finger, sucking it clean then moving onto the next, the flavor of her skin making him swoon with heady pleasure.

He was trembling, on the rails, losing control, panting. He kissed her palm, then her wrist. Her pulse pounded crazily, and he kissed it, licked it; goosebumps raced up and down her flesh, and she moaned through closed lips. His fucking pants were soaked now but he didn't notice; his body burned with arousal and his mind was fogged with lust. He could literally be on fire and he wouldn't realize it.

"Ummm, that's nice," Leia said.

Encouraged, he trailed kisses up her slender arm, his fingertips massaging her knuckles.

"You're turning me on," she breathed.

"You're t-turning m-me on," he stammered.

She threaded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and tilted his head back. Her cheeks blazed crimson and her eyes shone with an aberrant light; her chest rose and fell as she fought to control her breathing. He looked at her, and she at them...then she tilted her head to the side and their lips fused, their tongues sliding hungrily over one another. She laid her hands on his face and he gripped her hips.

When the kiss broke, she rested her forehead against his, her sweet, chocolatey breath filling his nose. "Do you wanna fuck me?"

Lemy's head bobbed eagerly up and down. Sweet baby Jesus, yes.

She hummed. "Maybe I'll let you. If you're good."

"Anything," he said.

She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and pulled back slowly. Lemy gaped. Oh fucking man that's so fucking hot let me fuck you now please please please.

Instead, she sat up straight and smirked smugly. "You're going to wish you never said that, Lemy Loud."

* * *

Liby leaned against the dresser with her arms crossed and an impatient expression on her face. Lacy sat bent on the edge of the bed, her forearms resting on her knees and her head bowed.

They were in Lacy and Lupa's room, and had been for nearly an hour. In the backyard, Dad pushed a mower along the fence, stripped to the waist and wearing a pair of gardening gloves. Liby pointedly ignored his muscular chest, and the way the sun glistened on the sweat sheening him. They were waiting for him to come back inside so that Lacy could talk to him about her feelings for Lemy. She could have done it before he went out to cut the grass, but she wasn't ready. She needed to amp herself up. Liby was starting to become annoyed. If it was just her, she would have Lemy in bed right this second, doing things to him that I can't describe here because they're not fucking dirty, but she couldn't, because she and Lacy agreed not to approach Lemy without the other. Liby was tempted to go snag him now and let Lacy work through her own problems, but she was serious about this, and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize hers and Lacy's arrangement; as a token of good will, she even agreed to let Lacy go first. I wanna take his V-card, she said earlier, I kind of...have a thing for that.

Liby wanted to be his first, but she was willing to give that honor to Lacy in exchange for being the one to spend the night with him. His virginity didn't overly interest her; falling asleep in is arms did, so it was really an even trade.

Outside, the drone of the mower's motor fell silent, and Liby went over to the window; Dad swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and started toward the back door, removing one glove then the other. Liby glanced over her shoulder at Lacy. "He's coming in."

Still staring at her feet, Lacy gave a slight nod. Liby frowned and shook her head. "I'm telling you, you're worrying for nothing."

Lacy sighed and looked up. Her face was wan and drawn. "Maybe," she said, her voice forceless.

Liby came over and knelt in front of her, then laid a hand on her leg. "He's not going to be upset," she assured her. "He's probably going to say 'Oh, that's great, honey, use protection.'" She deepened her voice to sound more like him, and Lacy cracked a muted smile. Liby rubbed the younger girl's knee and then patted it. "You ready?"

"No," Lacy said, but got to her feet anyway.

Liby likewise stood and smoothed out her skirt with her hands. "Come on," she said and started for the door, "the quicker we get this over with the quicker we can have Lemy."

Despite herself, Lacy smiled.

Downstairs, Dad stood at the counter assembling a sandwich from cheese, meat, condiments, and pumpernickel bread. Liby's nose instinctively crinkled when she saw the latter - she hated the stuff and how Dad could stomach it was far beyond her. Lacy, arms crossed nervously at her stomach, shuddered slightly, and Liby slipped her arm around her shoulders.

Dad didn't hear them come in; he was humming and focused entirely on his sandwich. Liby cleared her throat, and he tossed a quick glance in their direction. "Hey, girls," he said, "I was just making lunch, want some?"

"No," Liby said, "we actually need to talk to you. About something important."

Lacy stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze as he picked up his plate and came over. "Alright, let's sit."

In the dining room, he sat his plate down and sank into a chair with a weary sigh. Liby and Lacy sat side-by-side across from him, Lacy doing her best to avoid looking at him. He noticed; his brow furrowed and he turned to Liby. "What's up?"

"Well," Liby started, "we have something to tell you. Lacy is very nervous about it."

Dad looked at Lacy. "Whatever it is, honey, you can tell me. You don't have to be nervous." His voice was soft, comforting, and Liby could see it affecting Lacy like heat melting ice. She looked up and favored him with a hopeful expression. He smiled warmly and reached his hand across the table; she took it and their fingers threaded together. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Lacy gave Liby a sidelong glance as if for guidance, then took a deep breath. "We...we're both….we both like Lemy."

The last four words came out in a hurried rush; she wanted them out and spoken, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Dad's forehead wrinkled. "Well, I'd hope, he's your br - " his eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "Ooooh. You mean like-like." He looked from one girl to the other, and both nodded, Lacy miserably and Liby resolutely.

"That's great," he said with a proud beam.

Lacy twitched her head up, something like surprise written across her face. "I-It is?"

"Yes," Dad said with an earnest nod, "I'm very happy. I've been waiting for one of you girls to start crushing on him."

Liby crossed her arms and regarded her sister with a smug smirk. See, Lace? I told you he wasn't going to be upset. He's a kind, caring, amazing, and understanding guy. I might not be in love with him, but it's easy to see why everyone else is.

"I thought you were going to be upset," Lacy said with a sigh of relief. "I...I kissed him yesterday and it felt like I cheated on you."

"Cheated on me?" Dad asked quizzically. "Honey, you don't…" he trailed off and looked from her to Liby and back again. "Can I tell you girls something?"

Both nodded.

Dad took a deep breath. "When I was eleven, I fell in love with my sisters and they with me. It was...strange, admittedly, first the actual falling part, you know, because we're family, and then what came after...all of them 'sharing' me. At first, there was a lot of fighting and a lot of jealousy." He chuckled fondly like a man entertaining a particularly precious memory. "Once, Lana smacked Lola over the head with a wrench, and Lola speared her through the sliding glass door. It was like an action movie. Oh, and this one time Lori had Luan in a sleeper hold and Lynn tackled both of them while screaming HEEEEEEE'S MIIIIIIINE!" He laughed richly and brushed a tear away from his face. Liby and Lacy looked at each other with matching expression of puzzlement.

Recovering, he sighed dreamily. "It was rough, but over time, we worked things out. Even now, it can be challenging, but we're created something beautiful. Our relationship is so much stronger than it would be if we weren't related, because our romantic love is built on a solid foundation of familial love. It's...it's an amazing thing, and I've always wanted you girls to have the same with your brother, and for Lemy to have the same with all you girls. I've been hoping for a long time that it would turn out that way, and now that it looks like it is, I'm very happy. And very proud." He squeezed Lacy's hand and smiled at Liby.

"I really like him," Lacy said, "I feel...I feel differently about him than you." She spoke the last part with a wince, as though she expected her father to explode at her.

Instead, he nodded deeply. "That's good, honey, it really is. I want that. I want you all to be happy together. Are you two planning to share?"

Liby nodded. "Yes."

"Good," he replied. "It's not going to be easy, but you made the right decision, girls, you really did. You'll see that eventually. I only hope that you will be open to the idea of the others joining if they feel the same way for Lemy."

Lacy shot him a stricken glance. "Uh, well, I don't know."

"Just...keep it in mind. It's really a wonderful thing."

Lacy nodded. "O-Okay, I will."

Dad smiled. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Liby said, "I think so."

"Good," he said and picked up his sandwich, "go get the boy. After he's done helping Leia, of course."

Liby and Lacy looked at each other.

And smiled.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Lyra laid a black dress on her bed along with a lacy black bra and panty set. She stroked her chin thoughtfully as she considered them.

She was fairly confident in her appearance, and she thought Lemy would like it, but there was always uncertainty; her body wasn't perfect, she had a little bit extra around the stomach and hips - not much but enough that she was just a little self-conscious, especially in situations where she planned to be as sexy and alluring as possible. She didn't do that often - she was grounded and as un-vain as Leia was vain, but every now and then, the situation called for it.

Like now.

Or later, rather.

See, Lyra had this problem: She had tunnel vision. Like her mother, she played music, and hoped to one day make a career of it. She worked hard, practiced endlessly, and tried always to keep her eyes on the future, the gold and glorious light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes that led her to miss things happening around her...like Lemy's transition from boy to man. It wasn't until this past week that she opened her eyes and realized he was no longer a child. In fact, it was the day Lacy called him a virgin loser and he stormed off. At first, she thought he was mad simply because Lacy insulted him, but when she went to talk to him afterwards, she really looked at him, and it occurred to her for the first time that he was growing up. He was almost thirteen, and if he was anything like she was at that age, he was saturated with hormones and angst; he was probably ashamed of his virginity and...wow, he's probably horny as hell too. He's gotta be hurting.

She wasn't in love with him, but she loved him dearly as a brother, and thus she resolved to willingly and gladly give him her body. The day they went to the river, she played to let him take her, but the thing was: She wanted to make absolutely sure he was ready. She didn't want to push him into doing something he wasn't 100 percent prepared to do. Her goal was to throw herself at him and let him decide what to do.

They did not have sex.

For a while, she thought that maybe he really wasn't ready, but over the past day or two, she came to believe that he was but was too timid to initiate anything. He needed someone - a loving sister - to get the ball rolling.

And tonight, she was going to do just that.

A part of her was still worried that she was wrong and that his attitude had nothing to do with being horny and not having release, so she was going to throw one final test in: She was going to strip for him, and if she saw (or felt) his arousal, she would know to continue; she would do her sisterly duty and make him cum as many times as he wanted, and from there, she would make herself available to him whenever he wanted. It was only fair; she and her sisters had Dad whenever they felt the call of nature, poor Lemy had no one. Well, he had her now, and if that was indeed what was bothering him, she would talk to the others about being with him too. She didn't think they would be against the idea; they probably hadn't noticed junior was coming of age either ( Damn Yankees reference...she could be as bad as Lemy sometimes). And if they weren't willing to help their rockin' little bro out when he needed it, even with all the times he helped them out, fuck it, she'd do it herself.

Now, what should I do to get him warmed up?

That was the question.

* * *

The rest of Lemy's day went like this:

*Cue antiquated rock music only I know and like*

_Sometimes I think this woman is kinda hot_

_Sometimes I think this woman is sometimes not_

Leia crossed her arms and followed behind as he carried a crate full of lemons from the garage. It was heavy as fuck; his back and knees were bent and his arms trembled. His red face was drawn up in a pained grimace; despite the headband, sweat flowed freely into his eyes.

"Hurry up," Leia spat, "I don't know what's slower, your body or your mind."

He reached the table and dropped the crate onto the ground with a grunt; he fell to one knee and sucked great gulps of air. Goddamn.

Behind him, Leia hummed and tapped her finger against her cheek. "Actually, we don't need this. Take it back."

Lemy sighed.

_Puts me down, fools me around_

_What's she doing to me?_

_Out for satisfaction, any piece of action_

_That ain't the way it should be_

"Lemy," Leia moaned. She was sitting at the table and he was standing beside her, fanning the dry August air with a sheet of pink construction paper and getting really fucking annoyed. "I'm hot."

Yeah, you are, though. That's why I'm still here.

"Reach into the cooler and get me an ice cube."

Rolling his eyes, he dropped the paper, bent, and opened the lid of the cooler; cans of Coke and bottles of juice jutted from a sea of ice. He picked up a cube, closed the lid, and held it out to Leia. "Uh, no," she said, then reached behind and moved her hair aside. "Rub it on the back of my neck."

Lemy's dick panged. Okay!

Getting behind her, he let his gaze softly caress the nape of her neck, a gentle slope of sunkissed perfection. He held the cube to her flesh and smeared it around slowly. Leia hummed. He wasn't hard a few seconds ago but he was now. He leaned in and breathed deeply through his nose; the sweet smell of her shampoo made his eyes roll back into his head. The cube quickly melted, and her skin was slick, shimmering.

He didn't realize he was kissing her until his lips touched her neck. His fingers slipped into her hair and she gasped as he pressed his lips to her skin and sucked, water tinged with her sweat filling his mouth. "Ummm. Did I say you could kiss me?"

His dick throbbed hotly in his pants. "No," he trembled but didn't stop.

She tilted her head forward to give him better access, and hs massaged her scalp as his lips moved to the side of her throat. He took her earlobe in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. His passion was leading him and he was powerless to resist. "Hmmm. Okay. Stop kissing me."

"Leia, please…"

"I said stop kissing me." Sharper this time.

On the verge of tears, he obeyed his princess.

_She needs love, smells out a man_

_She's gotta see_

_Pours my beer, licks my ear_

_Brings out the devil in me_

_Hell ain't a bad place to be_

"You're not doing it right!"

He was kneeling on the cold, hard concrete of the garage floor, a manual juicer in front of him. H'd been squeezing lemons for half an hour, and had only half a pitcher of lemonade to show for it. He glanced over his shoulder; Leia's arms were crossed over her chest and her hip was cocked to one side in the brattiest fucking pose he'd ever seen. It was also the hottest fucking pose he'd ever seen. "How do I do it?" he asked.

"Figure it out," she said disgustedly, "you're not that stupid."

_Spends my money, drinks my booze, stays out every night_

_And I got to thinking, hey, just a minute, something ain't right_

_Disillusions and confusion_

_Make me want to cry_

_All the same, you lead your games_

_Tellin' me your lies_

Lemy sat a plate before Lizy and one before Leia. On both was a sandwich (Lizy's cut down the middle and Leia's cut into fourths at her demand) and crinkle chips. "Thank you!" Lizy said and picked up one half of her sandwich.

Leia looked up at him. "Sit."

He dropped onto the ground next to her chair and pulled his knees to his chest. This was starting to really get on his nerves. He should -

"Lemy."

He turned his head. Leia was smiling seductively and holding one of the sandwich pieces out. Oh, you're gonna yank it away when I go to get it. Been there, done that.

Still, he leaned over, and to his surprise, she pushed it past his lips, then stroked his cheek with the back of her hand; was it imagination, or was that affection in her eyes?

_Don't mind her playin' demon_

_As long as it's with me_

_If this is hell_

_Then let me say_

_It's heavenly_

_Hell ain't a bad place to be_

Lemy sat the crate back in the garage and returned to the table. His muscles felt like rubber and he was coated in sweat from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He heard something once about people in the army or prison being forced to dig a hole and then fill it back in just because. That's what this was: Carry a crate out, set it down, then carry it back.

At the table, Leia was in her seat talking to a pair of girls, one black with glasses and the other white with shoulder length brown hair. They were both dressed identical to Leia - short pink skirts, bare legs, and sweater vests. Lemy gulped. They were sexy...but not as sexy as his little goddess.

When he walked up, Leia turned her head to him and frowned. "You look hot."

Hyper aware of two sexy ass hotties looking at him, both with smutty smiles and risque eyes, he played it cool. "A little."

Leia grinned. "Why don't you...take off your shirt?"

Lemy sputtered. "M-My shirt?"

She nodded. "Your shirt."

Her friends looked at each other and giggled.

"I'm okay, I…"

"Do it," Leia ordered.

Sighing, he slipped off his vest, tossed it aside, then, with a blush, pulled his shirt over his head, the mid afternoon breeze cold against his slick flesh. He dropped it onto the ground and stole a nervous glance at Leia's buddies. They were both blushing, the white one biting her lower lip and fucking him with her eyes. Holy shit, maybe I should blow this place and try to get with her.

"That's your brother?" the black girl asked.

Leia shot him a haughty look. "Yeah. He's a freak."

"He's pretty cute for a freak," the white girl said, and Lemy choked.

_Late at night_

_Turns down the light_

_Closes up on me_

_Opens my heart_

_Tears me apart_

_Brings out the devil in me_

_Hell ain't a bad place to be_

The afternoon sun was melting in the east, and the cool of dusk was beginning to creep into the air. Leia turned her chair to face him, and he stood before her like a slave on an auction block, his hands at his sides and his boner poking through his pants. She leaned forward and laid her palms flat on his bare stomach; it quivered under her soft touch. She looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "You're actually not as repulsive as I thought you were."

Lemy blinked. "Uh, t-thank you."

Grinning sinfully, she ran her hands up his chest, her questing fingers grazing his flesh and making him shiver. She giggled and bit her lip; taking her hand away, she curled her finger in a come hither gesture. Lemy bent forward and she sat up straighter. "Kiss me," she commanded.

Heart racing, he tilted his head and met her lips; their tongues danced together in slow, passionate harmony.

She put her palms on his his chest again...and pushed him back. "Alright," she said and turned away, "start packing it up. I'm ready to go inside now." She grinned evilly.

_I _said

_Hell ain't a bad place to be_

_Hell_

_Ain't a bad place to be_

_Hell_

_Ain't a bad place to be_

And in the end, it wasn't.

Hell was a fucking awesome place to be.

* * *

Liby and Lacy's day passed like this: Lacy happily kicking her soccer ball in the backyard and Liby finishing off the IRS paperwork she didn't have the time or focus to do yesterday. After talking to Dad about Lemy, Lacy felt much, much better and, truth be told, so did Liby. She decided to share just to avoid conflict with her sister (every good gumshoe knows not to shit where they eat), but after digesting her father's words, she was actually kind of looking forward to this. They could make something beautiful, something special...especially if it stayed just the two of them. She wasn't entirely closed to the idea of sharing with the others, but she really didn't want to have to fight with five or six or more girls just to spend time with Lemy. The same thing happened with Dad, and it was miserable: Lupa and Loan would hog him all day between themselves, and he would barely have any time for anyone else. She could stand it with him because he was Dad, but this was Lemy...her Lemy, and as far as she was concerned, the fewer, the better.

Finishing the tax forms took longer than it should have because her mind kept drifting to Lemy, and every once in a while she'd lean over the desk and crane her neck to see him; the lemonade stand was off to the left, and if she pushed up on her tippy toes, she could just see it. For the most part, he sat on the ground, but now and then she'd glimpse him carrying something or riding off on his bike to make a delivery. How much longer until Leia let him go? She really wanted to sit down with him and see if he was open to her and Lacy loving him. She hoped he was, because it would be a real shame to come this far only to be shot down over home plate. It would be even worse if he shot only one of them down but accepted the other. If it was her he rejected, she would be broken...totally and completely broken. And if it was Lacy, she'd be so upset for her that she wouldn't be able to fully enjoy him...at least for a little while.

Okay, let's not think about that. Worry about these forms.

And she did. An hour later, she finished the last one and slumped back in her chair. Whew. Finally.

She got up, leaned over the desk and looked out the window. Lemy was sitting on the ground. Still being detained. Hm. Maybe some TV?

Shrug. Okay.

She went downstairs and found the living room empty save for Lacy, who sat with her back deeply nestled into the couch and her feet up on the coffee table, her soccer ball sitting in her lap. She glanced up when Liby sat, and they nodded to each other. "Lemy still helping Leia?" Lacy asked.

Liby nodded. "Yep," she said, a note of impatience in her voice.

On TV, pair of cops chased a man through an alley. From the way the camera jostled and shook, Liby inferred that it was Cops. She was on an episode of Cops once: She was working a case when her mark got busted by a couple of screws on beat patrol. You could glimpse her in the background, sitting astride her bike and looking annoyed because now the case would take even longer; can't follow someone when they're in the clink, you have to wait.

Anyway, Lacy sighed. "I'm really stressing about telling him," she said, her eyes fixed on the screen.

Liby nodded. "I kind of am too," she allowed. "If he chooses only one of us...and if it's you...I-I'll accept it." Those words took great effort to speak, and hurt like kidney stones coming out.

Lacy glanced at her with a pained frown, then away. She didn't say anything for a long time. "I will too," she finally heaved.

"I -" Lacy started, but a loud knock at the door cut her off; sounded like a sheriff with warrant, and Liby knew what she was talking about - she'd been with a dozen cops when they served warrants. She went to get up, but Lacy beat her to it, getting to her feet with a sigh and crossing to the door.

She didn't lie when she told Liby she was really stressing, but she omitted something: An extra really. It felt like she was going to be sick, and every moment that passed in anticipation of approaching Lemy stretched into eternity. She was about to go out there and grab him, and if Leia didn't like it, tough tity.

Laying her hand on the knob, she turned it and opened the door.

When she saw who it was, her eyes narrowed.

"Fuckface here?" Juicy asked. She was dressed in a purple sweatsuit, the shirt pushed up to reveal her bulging, stretch mark lined stomach. She dug one dirty sausage finger in her cavernous belly button and flicked a piece of purple lint onto the ground. Dark sweat stains spread from under her arms and beads of same trickled down her doughy face. Orange flecks - from Cheetos probably - dotted the hair on her upper lip, and her beady little eyes shone with deviant light. A breeze caught her stench and shoved it into Lacy's face: Mildew, halitosis, perspiration, and the nauseating scent of dirty armpits.

"What the fuck do you want?" Lacy growled as if she didn't already know. She wanted Lemy...her Lemy. And Liby's.

"I'm here to sex yo' brother up," Juicy replied. "Where he at? Imma suck him 'til he see God."

Hot rage bubbled up in Lacy's chest at the thought of this...thing...touching Lemy. "Get your fat ass out of here unless you want a broken nose."

Juicy's eyes widened, then her pointer finger shot up and her neck rolled. "Oh, I know you did not just say that to Mama Juicy."

"I did," Lacy snarled, "stay away from Lemy. He doesn't want you." With that, she slammed the door and turned, her hands balled into fists and her teeth bared. How fuckng dare that nasty, skanky...woman...come here? She's lucky she didn't plow her in the nose.

Liby was sitting forward and frowning, her hands resting on her knees. "Who was that?" she asked as Lacy dropped next to her.

"Some fat girl who likes Lemy," Lacy replied. She went through what happened at the park yesterday, and Liby's expression went from one of confusion to one of brow-pinched anger. "If she comes back I'm gonna knock her block off," Lacy said and snatched the remote from the coffee table. She threw herself back and changed the channel, her thumb angrly stabbing the button. She cycled through the stations a dozen times over the next half hour as she fumed. Finally, she threw the remote aside and got up. "I'm going to the park," she said, "I need to burn some energy off."

"I'll come with," Liby said and stood, "if I sit around here waiting I'm going to go crazy."

While Lacy went into the backyard to get her soccer ball, Liby went upstairs, got her gun from the safe, and tossed it into her backpack, then slung it over her shoulder. Her Ruger was like American Express: She never left home without it. She made that mistake once and wound up having to fight her way through a team of goons with a block of wood. Have you ever cracked a man in the head with a 2x4? It sends a painful vibration up your arm, and after doing it fifteen or sixteen times, you end up so sore you can barely move. Better than using PVC pipe, though; she did that a few times...took forever to crack a skull with that stuff.

Downstairs she met up with Lacy, and together they went into the garage through the connecting door in the kitchen. "You ever play soccer?" Lacy asked as they crossed to their bikes.

"Not really," Liby said as she grabbed hers from against the wall. It was pink and girly with saddlebags thrown over the back. Inside was an assortment of gear and gadgets, some of it legal, some of it not.

"I'll teach you," Lacy said as she mounted her Huffy. It was red with white trim. She grinned conspiratorially. "Since we're gonna be sister-wives."

Liby chuckled sardonically as she climbed onto her bike. "How about we call ourselves something else?"

"What?" Lacy asked.

Liby thought for a moment. "I dunno," she finally shrugged, "the Loud Crowd?"

They were pedaling down the driveway now, Lacy in the lead. The lemonade stand was off to their left, and Liby glanced over as they passed. Lemy was sitting on the ground and looking up at Leia, who sat in a chair; Leia looked down at him, and the fire in the little girl's eyes made Liby's stomach clutch. Oh, no, another one? Already?

Sigh. You know what they say: Two's company, three's a crowd...and four's a harem.

A block north of the house, they came to a busy intersection. Lacy braked, and Liby came up beside her. She started to mention Leia giving Lemy bedroom eyes, but stopped herself. Best to hold off on that.

The light changed, and they biked across the street, Lacy getting in front again. Ahead, a line of trees marched along the sidewalk. Old houses, their facades brick and their windows bay, looked suspiciously out over the thoroughfare. A man in shorts and a pale yellow polo shirt pushed a mower through his yard, and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass tickled Liby's nose. She loved summer, and it made her sad to know that it was coming to an end: In just a few weeks, school would start, days would grow shorter, and the cold of autumn would begin to creep in. She liked fall enough, but summer was better.

Lacy was far ahead, approaching another intersection. Liby kept a slow, leisurely pace. No need to rush, no need to hurry…

At the intersection, Lacy paused...then suddenly a black panel van appeared and came to a screeching halt. The sliding door on the side flew open, and before Liby could register what was happening, Lacy was being dragged in. "Hey!" the little jock cried and thrashed.

Coming alive, Liby started to pedal, but it was already over; the van peeled off in a squeal of tires.

Liby's heart dropped into her stomach. Someone just abducted Lacy...someone just kidnapped her sister!

Panic threatened to overwhelm her...then Mystery Girl took over: Her crashing heart stiled, her breathing calmed, and her mind instantly switched tracks like a train. She was no longer a chipper lass on her way to the park, she was a cool and collected sleuth.

Throwing caution to the wind, she veered into the street and crossed to the other side, her legs pumping furiously. On the sidewalk running along the street the van had gone down, she saw it coming to a stop at a red light. Leaning over the handlebars to cut down on wind resistance, she pumped her legs faster; she was sailing now, the wind rushing over her. When she was close, she slowed, let go of one bar, and reached behind her into the saddlebag to her left. Come on, come on, come on! Her fingers closed on something and she pulled it out. A plastic gun with a red stripe along the side. Yes!

The light changed, and Liby's heart jerked. Steering with one hand, she followed as best she could: It was far ahead, but not too far. She lifted the gun, stared down the sight, and pulled the trigger. A homing device no bigger than a Tic-Tac hit the rusted rear bumper and stuck like glue. Ha!

She shoved the gun back into the saddlebag as the van turned a corner and disappeared. She whipped out her phone and called up a map of Royal Woods: The van appeared as a blinking red blip heading northwest on Pine Street. Liby took a hard right, zipped halfway down Morris, a narrow lane running behind a rush of lower middle class houses, then took a left through someone's yard and came out onto Pine. The van was just turning onto Rosedale; they were on the edge of Royal Woods' industrial section now, ancient smokestacks long dead rising into the air like the bones of prehistoric creatures, and crumbling factories surrounded by chain link fences growing up along the street. She glanced down at the screen just as the van stopped. Two blocks over.

Mystery Girl grinned.

Got your asses, you sorry sister stealing sons of bitches; get ready for the pain.

Because here it comes.


	10. End of the Line

**I am probably going to post the next story arc - the one where Gwen comes in - as a separate story. It was always it's own self-contained work, I just posted it under the larger BS umbrella. I thought of it as akin to three movies in a series being released on the same DVD. Maybe that was the wrong choice. So soon look for _The BS Life of Gwen._**

**Also, since I'm here, Imma address Liby and Lacy one final time. The secret agent stuff was stupid, okay? However, given that Lulu is a literal mutant in the sin kids headcanon, I can't say that the Spy Kids stuff is all that outlandish. Oh, outlandish, sure, but this is a fan fic based on OC characters made for a cartoon series - a fan made canon where Lincoln literally has sex with his daughters and sisters and lives in a giant harem. It's hard to come to something like this 100 percent sober, throw in a mutant and I figured Liby and Lacy would be over the top, but in a fun, campy way.**

**I was wrong. I had fun with it but a lot of people thought it was gay, but I'm used to that. As for Liby and Lacy falling in love, my mindset was this: They just went through a hugely traumatic event together, their adrenaline was pumping, they were close to death, they bonded in a special way - perfect way to fall in love with someone and realize that you weren't actually in love with the person you thought you were in love with before. **

* * *

**Lyrics to The Jack by AC/DC (1975)**

Lemy dragged himself through the front door and staggered over to the couch, dropping onto it with a moan. His entire body was sore and hot, his back arched, his muscles quivered, and his eyes throbbed with exhaustion. Damn. Running a lemonade stand is harder than it looks.

Lizy and Leia came in next, Lizy closing the door. Leia held the lockbox protectively under one arm; there was just over one hundred dollars inside...far less than she was hoping for. Guess we'll have to do this again tomorrow, she said, I need to recoup my investment.

Lemy glanced at her, and she licked her bottom lip obscenely. "Lizy?" she asked without breaking eye contact.

"Yeah?" Lizy asked.

Leia shoved the lockbox into her hands. "Take this upstairs. I need to talk to Lemy."

Lemy's heart was a piece of steak and Leia's words were a fucking mallet: He jerked a little when she spoke, and his stomach clutched like it was being squeezed in a fist. Lizy looked between the box and the older girl, her brow furrowed...then she shrugged and went upstairs.

When she was gone, Leia waggled her eyebrows and came forward, her steps slow and her hips swishing hypnotically from side to side. Lemy' throat constricted and he sat up straighter. Holy shit, holy sht, holy shit…

She planted one knee onto the couch cushion next to him and leaned forward, her hand going to the side of his face. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. She shifted into his lap, he knees caging his legs; his bulge poked her bare pussy and she brushed her teeth across her lower lip. She took his face in both hands and ran her fingers through his hair, a wicked light dancing in her eyes. Lemy's heart exploded against his ribs with nuclear force and his dick felt like one of those fucking rods, you know, glowing orange with heat. His hands went clumsily to her hips, and she rocked slowly forward, her body stroking against his erection and making him shudder.

Hey eyes were big, filled with light, and he could feel her gaze touching his soul. He brushed his hands up her flanks, and she hummed.

"You were a good boy today," she said and tilted her head. Their noses skimmed and their lips hovered achingly close. Lemy swallowed. "You know what that means?"

Fire burned in his body, the smoke clogging his brain. "W-What?"

She stroked his hair gently, lovingly and ghosted her lips over his. "You get your lemon." She kissed him deeply, and he kissed her back, his hands slipping under her shirt on their own accord. Her flesh was warmer and softer than her ever could have imagined, and she trembled under his touch. When his hands reached the swell of her tiny breasts, she gasped into his mouth. Their heads tilted left and right as the kiss became needier, more urgent. Her heart throbbed in his hand, her breasts quaking with each beat. Her nipples prodded his palms, and by instinct he began to rub them with his thumbs.

Her fingernails trailed down his face, and his flesh tightened like a drum. Over his chest, down his stomach, sending crackles of electricity racing through him He pushed the back of her skirt up and gripped her bare butt in both hands; she hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged. Let me in. She pulled away and fumbled at his belt with shaking fingers. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, his nails digging deeply into her butt. He was lost to passion, mindless in his pursuit of Leia. She wasn't too far behind; she got the belt undone and gave up on the button in favor of grabbing his through his pants and squeezing. His breath caught. "I want this," she whispered into his ear, her hot breath making the back of his neck prick. "Inside me."

"I want it inside you," he croaked and kissed her earlobe, "so bad."

"How bad?" she asked.

"So bad it hurts." He kissed her throat, her jawline, her ear again, her hair tickling his nose like the softest silk. She squeezed him again and giggled when his hips spasmed forward.

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully, her eyes rolling cutely to the side, "I don't know. Tell me why you want it."

Lemy's head swam and his body smoldered. Thinking wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do in such a state, so he said the first thing that came to mind, his words leaving him in a shameless torrent. "You're beautiful; you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Leia, and you make me so hard I feel like I'm gonna fucking rip."

She beamed down at him. "Yeah?"

His head flopped up and down.

She hummed. "What makes me beautiful?"

"Your eyes," he said, "they're the clearest blue and looking into them makes me feel shaky and weak. Your hair, your lips, your everything. You're perfection."

She was smiling widely now. She bent forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Say my name," she whispered.

"Leia," he said.

"Okay," she said, "you're allowed to fuck me now."

Lemy shot his hand down and fumbled with his jeans just as she had. He got the button, then yanked down the zipper. He started to take himself out, but Leia brushed his hands away and did it for him, her thin fingers wrapping around his pulsing length; he gasped and threw his head back. Holy fuck, it felt so much better when someone else touched it.

She sat back and regarded him with an open mouthed smile. "How does that feel, Lemy Loud?"

His words burst forth in a wheezing rush. "So good. So fucking good."

"Am I your favorite sister now?"

He nodded.

"Am I your little princess?" Her fingers kneaded him, spreading his leaking arousal like honey on a comb.

"God yes," he said.

She held him firmly and lifted up, then brought herself down; when he felt his tip pressing against the slick opening of her secret garden, he moaned deeply. "Just one downward motion, Lemy Loud," she teased and leaned over, her nose brushing his. "That's all." Her voice was thick and slow with passion. "Then we're having sex."

"Please do it, Leia," he begged, "I want you so bad." Her wet heat pooled in his lap and caressed his dick. Her fingers massaged him, her eyes enchanted him. She bit her bottom lip, then began to settle; his head parted her lips and pushed a fraction of an inch in. The feeling was indescribable, dizzying.

Her face was blood red now and her eyes were misty. "Say my name."

"Leia," he panted, "Leia, Leia, Leia."

She ran her fingers through his hair...then sank onto him, her body sheathing his dick. Her walls rippled around him like wet satin, and he moaned loudly. She lifted up, then brought herself down again, her muscles clamping tightly around him. They were both breathing heavily now, both trembling as their hips moved in sinful unison. She tugged his hair and pressed her lips to his forehead; his hands crept over her back, rubbing, touching, exploring..and relishing.

Intense sensation coursed through Lemy's body; he'd never had 50,000 volts shot into him, but he imagined it couldn't be much different from this. His eyes were closed, but he opened them now: Leia's face filled his world; flushed with passion, her eyes narrowed and murky, her bangs plastered to her sweaty forehead...she had never been more beautiful than she was in that moment, and he leaned into kiss her. She kissed him back, her body melting into his and her arms wrapping themselves around his neck. She rocked harder and faster as their tongues swirled freverantly around one another, tasting and investigating every crease and crevice of each other's mouths.

Lemy was drunk on her; his body was weak, quivery, and his mind was gone, all thought given over to primal feeling.

Leia pulled back and pressed her forehead against his; her breath exploded against his lips. She bounced faster; his head scraped along her walls and pounded against her cervix, each thrust tearing breathless grunts from her throat. "T-Touch my t-tits," she spluttered. Lemy's hands slipped under her shirt and danced across her fevered skin; her cupped each of her breasts and squeezed. She hitched and rocked forward s-l-o-w-l-y, her head bowing and her hair obscuring her face.. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, Lemy...Lemy..."

"Leia," he moaned, "Leia."

"I love it when you say my name."

"My princess."

"Your queen."

She tilted her head forward and they kissed again. Lemy circled his arms around her waist and held her close. He could feel his end approaching fast, and he tried to hold it back, but it surged forward and all he could do was get out of the way. "I-I'm cumming," he panted.

"Do it," Leia hissed through her teeth.

He hugged her close and gave completely into his climax: It rushed up and exploded from him with such force that he literally cried out. Leia let out a long moan/pant/sigh as it filled her passage and spurted deep into her stomach. Her walls closed around him and she trembled in her own orgasm, a series of high pitched 'Uh's' trembling from her lips. Lemy held her tightly as his dick gave one final spurt and fell silent. Their mingled passion coursed down his shaft and pooled in his lap. Leia fell limp in his arms, her face buried in the crook of his neck and her body shivered as aftershocks tore through her.

Lemy sat there dazed and confused like this was Texas in 1976; his chest expanded and contracted as he took in big lunguls of air. His mind was slowly clearing, his body coming down from its euphoric high.

HOLY SHIT I JUST HAD SEX!

He blinked at the realization. He jerked his head to Leia, as if to confirm she was still there and not a figment of his imagination. Her back rose and fell and the hot feeling of their love, now trickling down his balls and onto the couch (that feels weird) told him that, brah, this wasn't a dream.

And I didn't nut too soon. I think. Whew. Thank God, if I did she probably would have mocked me and I would have wound up shooting myself. Siri, can you load a .20 gauge with transistor tubes?

Leia scrunched her shoulders and shuddered; she hummed and kissed his neck.

"H-How was it?" he asked.

"Ummm, trash," she said and kissed his neck again, her wet lips lingering on his fevered flesh. "You suck, Lemy Loud."

Her words pierced his heart like a blade. Held her at arm's length and searched her face for signs of deception. She was dead weight, her cheeks deep pink, her eyes foggy, and her mouth slack, a ribbon of drool trickling down her chin. She smiled weakly. "Worst sex ever."

Okay, he was new to this...but something told him she was lying.

"Kiss me," she said and leaned into him. I thought I sucked?

Whether he did or not, he kissed her; she took his face in her hands and started to grind him again. His rapidly deflating dick came roaring back to life, and her walls swelled against him as her own arousal returned.

He turned himself over to passion once more, giving his body away and following nature's course; he laid her down on the couch without breaking the kiss and thrusted; she gasped into his mouth and hooked her legs over his hips, her socked heels digging into his butt.

She said you suck, dude, a voice spoke from the mist in his brain, show her you don't.

Propping himself up on one arm, he slammed into her, and she uttered a short, sharp cry, her body jerking and the top of her head hitting the armrest. He pulled back and shot forward again, his head poking the opening to her womb and making her squeal. "Yes! Faster!"

Alright. He bowed his head and set a steady, uptempo pace. Leia drew him in with every thrust, her head thrown back to expose her gentle throat and her eyes closed. Lemy kissed her neck as he rutted into her; she gasped and rocked her hips against his, taking his dick to her limit and squeezing it hard with her throbbing walls.

Suddenly, her sinful channel bore down on him and she cried out. He thrusted again, and his dick swelled painfully in her tight confines...then it released, sending a tidal wave of hot sperm into her. She seized up like an epileptic thrashing on the floor, then gave a body wide convulsion: Her brow knitted, her mouth fell open, and her features twisted in the most beautiful agony he had ever seen. He kissed the tip of her chin, threaded his fingers through her hair, and thrusted again and again even though he was spent and his dick was beginning to go limp: He didn't want this moment to end...her beneath him, her legs wrapped around and her hazy eyes staring up at him, their bodies entwined and quivering with exhaustion. She tilted her head down, and the look of slurry, lovedrunk satisfaction on her face made him grin.

"T-That was even worse t-than the f-first time," she murmured.

A laugh bubbled up from Lemy's throat. He stared down at her and lovingly brushed a long strand of blonde hair out of her sweaty face. "You wanna try again?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "Y-You'll just f-fuck it up again." She smirked, a muted twinkle glinting in her eye. "Now get off me. I need a shower."

Reluctantly, he pulled out, and a flood of their mixture gushed out of her and onto the couch. She got up on shaky knees and nearly fell; her arms shot and she balanced herself like a tightrope walker on a high wire. "You okay?" he asked and lifted a brow.

"I'm fine," she said sleepily, "except I'm leaking like crazy."

She went to the foot of the stairs, her knees bowed and her legs like rubber. When she was gone, Lemy sat where was, a creeping grin spreading across his face.

Then he went to get up and collapsed because his knees, too, were weak.

Ow, goddamn.

* * *

Liby followed a maze of slime slathered alleys heaped with refuse to a chain link fence. She moved quickly, at a crouch, darting from one concealment to another: A green Dumpster, a stack of empty boxes, a phalanx of trash cans. Her heart raced but she was calm, confident.

The fence ran along a fifty foot drop. Weeds grew from cracks in the concrete. Ahead was a factory with big, segmented windows. Many of the panes were busted, but some weren't...the smile of a veteran pugilist. The van was parked in the open. Liby dropped to her knees next to a metal trash can and pressed her face to the warm metal fence, her eyes scanning for danger but seeing none. These guys were sloppy.

She unshouldered her bag and rummaged through it, taking out a pair of binoculars. Warm wind played in her hair as she lifted them to her eyes and swept the front of the building. She didn't see anyone.

If she had to guess, she'd say the people who took Lacy (there had to be at least two, one behind the wheel and one in the back) were pedos. And not very bright pedos at that. She shoved the glasses back into the bag and zipped it up. She started to stand, but something cold and hard poked her in the back of the head. "Drop the gun, bitch."

Liby's heart squeezed. Damn it.

She had two choices now: Fight back and wind up dead or lay the gun down and fight back later. Slowly, she sat the Ruger on the ground next to her, and the goon kicked it away. "Put your hands behind your back."

Her lips were pursed in annoyance as she obeyed. Well...this was going to be a mild inconvenience.

He tied her wrists with rope, then dragged her to her feet. "March," he said and stuck the gun into the small of her back. "To the left."

She walked calmly and cooly along the drop. When they reached a set of steps, she went down without being told to. At the bottom, the goon spoke as if into a radio. "Got her."

So, it was a set up.

And she walked right into it. Good one, Lib; good one.

"Okay," a crackling voice came back, "bring her in."

Ahead, a metal roll top door opened and a man clad in cargo pants and an olive green T-shirt appeared. He wore a black bandana around his forehead and fingerless black gloves. He held a Heckler & Koch HK416 in his hands; it hung from a strap around one shoulder. It was black with a laser scope, vertical foregrip, and an extended magazine, a second magazine taped to the first. When he was done with one clip, all he had to do was pull it out, flip it around, and jam it back in. He saw them and gestured with his hand.

The goon shoved her through the door. Inside was a wide open space. Sunlight fell through broken windows, dust dancing in shafts of brilliance. A catwalk ringed the top of the room and off to her left a set of stairs lead to a raised platform. Typical warehouse set up; she'd seen a million of these.

"Put her with the other," Finger Gloves said. There were other men standing around and looking stony. Each of them held an assault rifle and wore a handgun on their hips. Some of them were white, some black, and others Hispanic; a diverse rainbow of lowlife scum.

Without a word, the goon lead her through a door and down a flight of stone steps that opened onto a long, narrow hall. At the end, a guy stood in front of a closed door with an AK-47 in his hands. His body was ramrod straight and his chin jutted out; if he wasn't guarding something, Liby was the queen of England.

"Open her up," the goon barked, and the guard opened the door. When Liby saw Lacy tied to a chair, her heart staggered, but she quickly recovered. This was no time to go to pieces. If she did, they weren't making it out of here alive.

Lacy's head was bowed, but when the goon brought Liby in, she looked up; her face was pale and drawn, her hollow cheeks stained with tears. She didn't look as though she had been harmed, though, for which Liby was endlessly thankful.

The goon made Liby sit in a chair next to her sister and slashed her bonds with a knife, then retired them behind the back of the chair: Her arm muscles stung and she winced at the pain.

Done, he came around front, and Liby saw him for the first time: He was big with a crooked nose, beady eyes, and a pale, jagged scar running along the right side of his face. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt; he wore a black tactical vest and a black watch cap. He held a chrome .357. His lips peeled back from his rotten teeth in a leer. "We got you now, bitch."

Liby glared at him.

"You're in for it."

He bent forward and stroked her cheek with the barrel of the gun. Lacy was crying softly now. "Hope you like breathing river water, cuz that's what you're gonna do." He drew back, shoved the gun into a holster on hip, and darted his gaze between the two girls. "Hopefully we get to have fun with you first."

With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Liby tested her bonds. They were tighter than a ten-year-old virgin.

Lacy wept openly, her tiny body shivering in fear. Liby turned to her. "Lace, I need you to be strong, okay? I'm gonna get us out of here."

"Who are these people?" Lacy hitched.

Liby considered for a moment. "I don't know. They could be anyone. That's not important. We're going to make a break."

Lacy was sobbing again, her head hung and shaking back and forth. "We're gonna die," she moaned.

"No we're not," Liby said firmly, "I've been in worse jams before and I came out fine. It won't be easy, though, especially if you're gonna go to pieces."

Lacy sniffed. Her face, in profile, was full of terror, and Liby's heart broke. She softened her tone. "Look, we're gonna be fine, I just need you to be brave for me, okay?"

For a long moment Lacy made no reply.

"Can you do that?"

Lacy nodded.

"Good. I -"

Before she could finish that thought, the door opened and a man came in. He was flanked on either side by a rifle toting bodyguard. When Liby saw who it was, her eyes narrowed. He was tall and well-built, dressed in gray slacks and a gray sports coat over a white shirt open at the throat sans tie. A gold chain hung around his neck and rings adorned his fingers. His neatly styled black hair was shot through with streaks of gray, as was his trimmed beard. His complexion was like warm caramel and his brown eyes sparkled with glee; his lips were turned up in a smug smile.

"Montoya," Liby snarled.

He stopped less than a foot away and put his hands on his hips. "Ms. Loud," he said, his voice smooth and containing barely a ghost of an accent, "we meet again."

Ricardo Montoya was the biggest drug kingpin in the country - he moved more cocaine into the US than anyone, and was more brutal than La Familia Michoacana and the infamous MS-13 combined. Those who crossed him wound up in pieces after weeks of inhuman torture, and those who got in his way got the old Brooklyn Surprise - they went to start their cars and triggered a bomb instead.

His influence extended to Europe and South America, especially his native Costa Rica, where more officials, police chiefs, and politicians answered to him than to the president. He lived in a lavish hilltop villa overlooking the Pacific Ocean where he entertained the rich, famous, and powerful on a regular basis. In America, he was el rey, in Costa Rica he was dios.

Lacy looked from Montoya to her sister, her eyes wide with fright.

"I told you this wasn't over," Montoya said and flashed a wide, shark-like smile.

The last time Liby saw Montoya, he was being hustled to a waiting chopper by a team of guards as a warehouse he owned in Detroit burned. She killed fifty of his men that day and nearly got him too. This isn't over! He cried as the copter lifted off. No, it wasn't.

"I've been expecting you, Montoya," Liby said, "and I'm glad you're here. I thought I was going to have to come after you."

Montoya threw his head back and laughed richly. His bodyguards snickered. "You are funny, Liby Loud. You are also stupid." He turned and called for someone to enter, and a man walked in, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. He wore a stocking cap. Montoya gestured for him to take it off, and he did. Liby was not surprised to see "Father O'Leary."

"It was a trap," Montoya said and turned back to Liby. "And you stepped right into it." He shook his head slowly and clucked his tongue "I am disappointed in you. I believed that you were a worthy opponent, but you revealed yourself to be a naive little girl. I will almost feel bad about having you killed." He loomed over her, his eyes burning. "Almost."

Liby's face flushed with rage.

He tapped the metal band over her headgear. "Soon, Liby Loud...soon."

He turned and gestured for his guards to follow. When they were gone, Liby began to flex her wrists against the rope. Next to her, Lacy shook like a small dog before the boot of a cruel master. "Don't worry, Lace, I'll have us out of here in a jiff. Look."

Lacy twisted her head around, and her eyes widened: A thin black hairpin was in Liby's fingers; she worried the fibers of the rope. "Where'd you get that?" she asked, her voice suddenly alive with wonder.

"A good gumshoe is always prepared," Liby said cryptically.

"Well...what are we going to do even if we get out? They have guns."

Liby laughed genuinely. "Lacy, I'm not worried about their little bean shooters."

Lacy blinked. "B-But…"

"Don't worry your pretty little head, missy" Liby said as she worked the pin against the fraying rope, "we'll be home in time for dinner."

Lacy watched with dawning amazement as Liby did her best to make good on her promise. Did she? Find out next time on The BS Life of Lemy Loud.

* * *

Lemy sat at his desk with his hands on his lap and a thoughtful expression on his face. His eyes were far away and he was smiling.

He'd been here nearly an hour staring off into space like Michael Myers in his cell at Smith's Grove, and he still couldn't fucking believe it. He had sex. With Leia. On the couch. He thought back to it and shook his head slowly. It was hazy, like a pleasant dream, and...man, it was making him hard again just thinking about it. The feeling of her lips kissing his naked flesh, of her body squeezing his as he brought her to orgasm, the way her watery eyes narrowed as her body pinched in pleasure. He only regretted not cuddling with her afterwards and basking in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking together. Yeah, I know, where's your bike, fag? Well...I just got laid, bitch, so there.

That was minor, though; the look in her eyes when she came, the love and adoration...that's what he wanted all along, and recalling it made him feel weak and tingly. And that first nut, man...it felt like his fucking everything was coming out. The second was nice too.

You know, I-I'm fucking speechless. I don't know what to say. Hahaha. First time for everything, right? I feel...I mean, I don't feel one hundred percent better, but I'm so fucking close, it really doesn't matter. I'm a little tired. And hungry. And my shit's all sore. Not my dick, but my stomach muscles and stuff. Feels like a did a bunch of crunches in gym class. I wonder how she feels. She was walking funny when I saw her coming out of the bathroom earlier - that means it was good, right? Yeah, yeah, it had to be. Did you see her face? She was blushing and drooling and...damn, I'm sprung again. How do I stack up to Dad? Was I as good? What does she look like when he's done with her? Was she faking? No, you can't fake that, man, and something tells me she isn't the kind of girl to spare your feelings like that. If you suck, she'll tell you. She told me I suck, but that's our thing, you know?

He reached into the drawer and pulled out his weed and a packet of papers. He took one out, laid it on the desk, and took a pinch of herb from the bag. He sprinkled it on and chuckled.

Oh, man, I still can't believe it. That was fucking awesome. There's no way in hell this day can get any better.

He picked up the paper just as someone knocked on the door.

See? It's always when I'm in the middle of something. Almost an hour of just sitting here, and nothing, but I go to roll a jay and BOOM.

Wait a minute, maybe it's Leia!

His dick twitched. "Come in!"

The knob rattled and turned slowly, the hinges creaking their anticipation. Lemy twisted around in the chair, his arm resting on the back. When he saw her, his excitement fell.

It wasn't Leia.

It was Lyra, dressed randomly in a brown trench coat and holding a boombox. Her mahogany hair spilled over her shoulders and her purple shadowed eyes were half-lidded, a wicked smirk on her freckled face.

Uh...she's looking at me like Leia did.

His heart leapt.

"Uh, hey," he said. His throat was suddenly dry and his dick was crying out for round three.

WIthout a word, she slipped in and shut the door behind her; when she thumbed the lock, Lemy swallowed hard.

She sat the boombox on the dresser and hit PLAY. Sexy guitar drifted from the speaker, and she turned to him with a sultry smile. She threw the coat off, and when Lemy got a load of what she was wearing, his jaw hit his chest: A short, sleeveless black dress that stopped well above her knees and lacy black stockings. She strutted forward, her hips moving in sweet time with the music.

She gave me the queen

She gave me the king

She was wheelin' and dealin'

Just doin' her thing

Standing before him now, she ran her hands slowly over her body, starting between her legs and traveling up her stomach. She brushed her teeth across her bottom lip and bent; her lips so close to his that he could taste them.

She was holdin' a pair

But I had to try

Her deuce was wild

But my ace was high

She cupped her breasts and stood, spinning and cocking a dirty come-hither look over her shoulder, her hair falling across one side of her face. She grazed her fingers down the outsides of her thighs and lifted the hem of the dress; he caught a flash of her perfect heart-shaped ass and her frilly black thong and nearly toppled over.

But how was I to know

That she'd been dealt with before

Said she'd never had a full house

She turned to the side and trailed her fingers up her leg. He saw her stomach, her belly-button ring, her flesh warm, smooth, and smattered with freckles.

But I should have known

From the tattoo on her left leg

And the garter on her right

She'd have the card to bring me down

If she played it right

She was facing away from him now, between his knees, her body going down like a well oiled machine. She brushed her hair away from the back of her neck and shot him a look that made him shiver. "Unzip me," she said huskily.

Lemy reached out one trembling hand and yanked the zipper down; the flaps fell open. More naked flesh. More freckles. More perfection.

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

She pushed smoothly to her full height and turned. She bit her bottom lip as she crossed her arms in an X and gripped the hem of the dress in her fingers. Her hips swayed from side to side. "Take it off?" she breathed.

Lemy nodded. "Y-Yes."

She pulled it up slowly, agonizingly, the fabric rustling as it lifted, baring more and more of her; her bra was black, her skin white.

The dress slipped over her head in a spill of hair, and she tossed it aside. It landed on the floor in a heap. She stood before him, her body slowly spinning for his approval. The bra, the panties, the stockings...black on white...lace on silk...he was panting now, his hands aching to touch her.

Poker face was her name

Poker face was her nature

Poker straight was a game

If she knew she could get you

She swept forward, hips swishing. Between his legs she turned away from him and bent at the waist, her ass filling his world. He was shaking, hot, and gasping for breath. He couldn't take it anymore: He grabbed her hips, the heat of her flesh making him shake even more. She stood and turned, her fingers running through his hair. "Touch me."

She played 'em fast

And she played 'em hard

She could close her eyes

And feel every card

He put his hands on her hips and looked up at her. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back. He swallowed thickly, scooted closer, and trailed his palms up her sides. She moved to the bluesy beat, her thighs rubbing together and her a long hmmmm quivering from her lips. Lemy placed a soft kiss on her stomach, and she gasped, her fingernails grazing his scalp. "I like that," she said.

But how was I to know

That she'd been shuffled before

Said she'd never had a royal flush

She sank fluidly to her knees; their noses touched, their eyes locked and held. She splayed her hands on his legs and crept them up, her fingers trailing fire in their wake. He breathed in her warm exhalations and whined in the back of his throat like a needy puppy. She laughed and tilted her head; her lips skimmed his, their eyes never breaking contact. "Am I turning you on, little bro?" she asked seductively. Her fingertips floated over his bulge, and his hips jerked spasmodically forward.

"Y-Yes."

But I should have known

That all the cards were comin'

From the bottom of the pack

She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down. Electricity cracked along his spine as she reached in and pulled him out: His tip was purple and leaky with yearning, his shaft red and thrumming like a high tension wire. She tossed her hair and looked up at him with lidded eyes. He stared down at her, his chest rising and falling as he clawed for breath. "You wanna jam, little bro?" she asked.

"Uh-uh," he said, his voice cracking.

She molded her lips to his head, then pushed down, taking him into her warm, wet mouth. Sensation exploded at the base of his spine, and he threw his head back with a hitching moan. Her lips hugged him tightly on the way down, the tip of her tongue lapping his sensitive underside like a lollipop. He touched the back of her throat, and she pulled up y, a burning mixture of her salvia and his precum swishing around his tightening girth. She reached his head, then went down again; her fingers kneaded his legs, and somehow his fingers wound up in her thick hair.

And if I'd known what she was dealin' out

I'd have dealt it back

Lemy moaned as Lyra pulled back, her lips slipping over his head. She brushed her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him with a satisfied smile. On her knees, with his precum shimmering on her lips, she was the most beautiful thing Lemy had ever seen - fuck Leia.

She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, catching his essence and purring in contentment. "How do you want it, little bro?"

For a moment he simply stared at her. Every way you can possibly have it! An idea came to him, and he liicked his lips.

"Anything you want," she said and kissed his tip, "just tell me."

"B-Bend over."

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

She's got the jack, and who knows what else?

She's got the jack, yeah, yeah

She was standing at the edge of the bed now, looking at him over her shoulder as she reached behind and undid the clasps of her bra. She removed it slowly, then tossed it away; Lemy's eyes slid over her naked back...her shoulder blades, the dimples at the base of her spine, her moles and freckles, each a mark of beauty upon the canvas of her body. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and pushed them down, the fabric kissing her satiny flesh on the way. When they were at her knees, she tossed her hair again and bent, her legs planted far apart. He could see it all...pink and moist and inviting...and it was all his.

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

She's got the jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack

She's got the jack

He took her hips in his hands and pressed his head against her opening; her heat was incredible, sickly, rolling off of her in fragrant waves. She watched him over her shoulder, her eyes smoldering with lust. "Do it," she said, "make music with me."

Lemy bared his teeth and thrusted, his rigid member parting her body and filling her to the hilt. She jumped and gasped, which made her walls tighten around him. He withdrew until his head was almost out, then threw his hips forward again. "Oh, fuck!" she cried into the mattress, her voice muffled.

She's got the jack, she's got the jack

Oh, it was a bad deal, (jack)

She gave me the (jack), hey

She's got the (jack), she's got the (jack)

She's got the (jack), ooh can't you tell

He lay on his back, Lyra straddled him. She stared into his eyes as she lifted up and then brought herself down again, her teeth chewing her bottom lip. He moaned and rubbed quick, frentic circles into her stiff nipples. "Like that," she said and tossed her head, her hair sweeping to one side. "God, Lemy, like t-that…"

She's got the jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack

She's got the jack

They twined their fingers and stared lovingly into each other's eyes as their mutual climax approached. "Are you close?" Lyra trembled.

"Y-Yes," Lemy said, gazing deeply into her soft brown eyes.

"Cum with me."

He squeezed her hands and arched his back, sending himself deeper into her sacred place. She began to tremble, and he expanded.

Aaaaaah

After, he held her in his arms and peppered kisses along her shoulders and the back of her neck; he breathed slowly through his nose, her smell wrapping itself around his brain like a heartfelt embrace. She laughed. "That actually wasn't bad," she said appreciatively. "Good job, Lemy."

"Uh, thanks."

Did she expect it to be bad?

"Did you...get off?"

She turned and met his eyes, then touched his cheek. "I did. Twice."

A boastful grin shot across Lemy's face; it was one of those things you can't help even if you want to. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Umhm. It wasn't about me, though. I know you've been kinda...you know...hurting."

She didn't know the half of it, but right now, in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking, it didn't matter. He hugged her to his chest and kissed her cheek. "Kind of."

"How does it feel to not be a virgin anymore?"

Uh...well...actually. "About that…"

She watched him expectantly.

"I kind of lost it already."

Her brow shot up, and a smile played at the corner of her lips. "To who?"

"Leia."

"Really? When did that happen?"

Lemy rubbed the back of his neck. "Like...an hour ago."

She stared at him with an inscrutable expression for a moment, then beamed. "Wow, two girls in one day. Nice."

* * *

Liby slipped her hands out of the rope and swung her arms around. Lacy glanced over, and her eyes widened. "You actually did it?"

"I did," Liby replied, massaging one wrist and then the other. The rope left deep, pink marks, but they wouldn't be permanente. "Now watch this." She removed her headgear, grabbed the metal mouthpiece, and pulled it out. Her hands flew in a blur, and in less than a minute she held it up for her sister's inspection. It was bent into a long, thin makeshift stiletto with a tapered point.

Lacy's face lit up, and her beautiful green eyes twinkled like emeralds. "Whoa," she breathed, and Liby blushed. "That's badass. I didn't know you were awesome."

Liby's blush deepened. "There's a lot you don't know about me, sis." She got up, went behind Lacy's chair, and untied her hands. "I learned that from a DXS agent named MacGyver. Give me ten minutes and I can turn this chair into a functioning nuclear reactor."

"What DXS?" Lacy asked as she brought her hands around and flexed her wrists.

"Government agency," Liby said simply and got to her feet, "it's top secret. I really shouldn't have even told you about them." She went to the door and pressed her ear against it. Lacy came up and stood next to her; the younger girl's hands were balled at her chest and she nervously chewed her bottom lip. Liby didn't hear anything, but she knew the guard was there...hopefully with his back to them. She turned to Lacy and motioned her back. "This might get dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt."

Lacy blinked. "What are you going to do?"

Holding up the stiletto, she flashed a dark, metal smile. "Get us out of here." She laid her hand on the knob and tested it gingerly.

Unlocked.

She looked to Lacy; she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. "I'm...I'm kind of scared," Lacy said, and flicked her eyes away.

Liby went to her and laid a comforting arm on her shoulder. "Don't be. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Their eyes met for a moment, and in Lacy's, Liby saw that she wasn't kind of scared...she was terrified. She pressed her forehead to Lacy's and held her gaze. "I need you to please be brave for me, okay? That's the only way we're going to get out of here."

"I ca -"

"Yes you can. You're Lacy Loud, you're the best sports star in Royal Woods. You can do anything."

Lacy bowed her head. "No I'm not," she said sullenly, and the misery in her voice made Liby's heart twinge. "I'm a loser and I disappoint my mom." She started to cry, and Liby blinked. Nothing brings out those deeply repressed emotions quite like being thrown into a van and then tied to a chair by gangsters. The pain in her pinched face - eyes squeezed close, lips screwed up - made Liby herself want to cry.

This, however, was not the time.

"Shhh," Liby said and glanced over her shoulder; the door remained firmly closed. "Lacy, you're not a disappointment. I've been to your games, I've seen what you can do on the field. Remember that game last fall? Where you ran the ball fifty yards and doged every single player on the other team?"

Lacy nodded dejectedly.

"I was sitting next to your mom, and you know what I saw on her face?"

Lacy looked up. "What?"

"Pride," Liby said, "I saw pride. She was beaming. You're fast and strong and brave...and that's what I need right now. Can you do that for me?"

They stared each other in the eyes; unshed tears stood in Lacy's, and Liby desperately wanted to hug her little sister, kiss her forehead, and stroke her hair.

"Lace?"

Lacy nodded and wiped a tear away from her eye. "Yeah, I'll do it. F-For you."

Liby smiled and touched her sister's wet cheek. "Thank you."

With that out of the way, Liby crept to the door and listened again, but heard nothing. She laid her left hand on the knob and turned it slowly, careful not to make any noise. The shiv was gripped tightly in her right; her heart knocked and nerves slithered in the pit of her stomach. Lacy closed her eyes and bowed her head like a woman expecting a blow.

Careful, ever so careful, Lacy opened the door without making a single solitary sound. The guard, as she had hoped, was facing down the hall, his back to her. He held his AK at the ready, unmoving, like a statue. Liby glanced at Lacy, who watched her with anxious eyes, then tiptoed out with a deep breath.

Lacy poked her head around the corner; Liby crept up to the guard at a crouch. He was much taller than her, and bigger too, what was she - ?

Springing like a frog, she leapt and, in one fluid motion, jammed the stiletto through the back of his skull and covered his mouth with her other hand, mufflung his cry. She yanked him back, and his knees went out from under him; he crashed to the floor in a sitting position, Liby's hand still clamped over his face. "Shhhh," she whispered, "go to sleep."

One more muffled exclamation, and he fell still.

Lacy's jaw dropped and she looked up at Liby; she eased the guard to the ground then took the machine gun from his hands. She slipped the strap over her shoulder, and looked at Liby. "I'm sorry you had to see that," the older girl said.

Lacy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't: The strangest and keenest mixture of horror, exhilaration, and elation coursed through her veins. Her heart slammed and her body tingled; a tiny smile curled the ends of her lips. "T-That was awesome."

Ignoring her, Liby squinted down the hall. It was lit (poorly) by a series of overhead lamps that cast murky orange light onto the concrete floor. "Alright," she said and turned her head to Lacy, "it's a straight shot to the stairs. Stay behind me and move quickly." She glanced down at the guard, then stooped and yanked his sidearm from its holster. "This is a Desert Eagle Mark I," she told Lacy patiently, then glanced over her shoulder. "It's Israeli. It chambers the largest centerfire cartridge of any magazine-fed, self-loading pistol. The kick is a bastard, but if you hold it with both hands, you should be fine."

She held it out, and the color drained from Lacy's face. "Y-You want me to s-shoot someone?"

Liby nodded. "Yes. If you have to."

Lacy's eyes darted from the gun to Liby's face. Liby shook the gun, and Lacy snatched it quickly away, as though taking it was the same as ripping a Band-Aid off a wound. "The safety is off. Be very careful; only point it at something you want to die." She glanced down at the dead goon, then knelt. She rummaged through the pockets of his vest, her pink tongue plastered to her upper lip.

"What are you doing?" Lacy asked and shot a nervous look down the hall.

Liby didn't reply. She reached under his vest, and her face light up like the Fourth of July. She pulled something out and held it up. "Ha," she said.

It was black and circular, about the size of a baseball. Lacy craned her neck forward and squinted her eyes. "What is it"

"Grenade," Liby said happily as she got back to her feet. "These thing are really handy." She shoved it into the pocket of her dress and looked up at Lacy. Lacy wasn't a super spy for whatever like her sister (who was, like, the coolest person in the world now), but she knew that grenades went BOOM, and that was kind of scary, she wouldn't lie. "Now come on. Stay behind me, stay low, and hurry." She took off at a crouch, and Lacy rushed to keep up. Her heart thundered in her chest and adrenaline pumped through her body. She was tense, like a coil, and her breaths came in short, hot gasps. She was terrified, but also strangely excited.

Suddenly, an alarm wailed, and Lacy's heart came to a complete halt. Liby's step faltered. "Damn it," she hissed. Voices rose ahead the sound of running feet filled the corridor. Liby brought the gun up just as two goons appeared from the stairwell; she fired from the hip tat-tat-tat. One of them flew back against the wall, and the other jerked and spun as bullets crashed into him. The reports were deafening in the narrow space, and Lacy's ears rang. Liby dropped to one knee and wedged the stock into the crook of her shoulder. She threw a glance over her shoulder. "Get down!"

Lacy dropped and cowered behind her sister, her eyes squeezing closed; the rifle spoke again, and Lacy jumped with a cry.

"Alright," Liby said, "follow me."

They rushed down the hall, and Lacy gaped when they came to the bottom of the stairwell; five guys lay dead on the floor, their limbs bent in funny directions and their faces splattered with blood.

Liby flattened herself against the wall flanking the stairwell and took the grenade out of her pocket. Lacy's heartbeat sped up. "Plug your ears," Liby said, and brought it to her mouth, "this is going to be loud." She pulled the pin with her teeth, then popped out from concealment and tossed it underhand up the stairs. Guys screamed, one of them yelling, "Fall back! Fall back!" and Lacy pressed the heels of her palms against her ears.

BOOM!

The walls shook and someone wailed in pain. "Come on," Liby said. She pushed away from the wall, aimed the gun up the steps, and fired into the swirling smoke, then she was climbing, with Lacy close behind.

At the top, burned body parts littered the charred ground. A black guy sat dead against the wall, his face full of shrapnel. Lacy's stomach turned.

"There they are!" someone called. A man popped up from behind a stack of boxes along the far wall, and Liby crashed into Lacy; they sprawled on the floor as bullets bit into the wall, showering them with dust and bits of stone chips. "Crawl!" Liby cried, and scuttled past. Lacy got to her hands and knees and followed her sister behind a black van much like the one she was dragged into. Liby knelt and pressed herself against the back tire while Lacy sat up next to her.

"Watch my six," Liby said over her shoulder.

"Your what?" Lacy asked, confused.

"My back!" Liby snapped. She nodded toward the front of the van. "Make sure no one sneaks up on us." Lacy followed her sister's gaze. She started to protest but stopped herself: Liby needed her to be strong and brave, and while she may not be able to be strong and brave for herself, she would for her sister. She got to one knee and faced away from Liby, the Desert Eagle raised in shaky hands.

Liby raked the boxes across the way with fire, and someone bellowed. A man jumped up and started to aim, but Liby got the drop on him and fired: He flew back against the wall, hit it, and fell into a heap. A savage grin rent her face, and her normally placid eyes pooled with fire and fury. Her lips peeled back from her teeth and she tittered deep in her throat. This is what she lived for.

Lacy held the Desert Eagle on the front of the van, her heart throbbing with dread expectancy. She tried to regulate her breathing but -

A man in black appeared around the front end, and Lacy reflexively jerked the trigger: Fire leapt from the barrel and the gun bucked in her hands. The round struck the man in the middle section and knocked him off his feet even as Lacy toppled over. Jarring vibrations raced up her arms and her shoulder muscles ached. Ow, damn.

Liby withdrew behind the tire and listened. Hearing nothing, she turned to Lacy, who was pushing herself back up. "Okay, come on." With that, she shot away from the van and hurried for the door. She looked back to make sure Lacy was following, then turned. Outside, two men darted across the threshold and Liby fired, hitting one and missing the other. Going out there wasn't optimal since she didn't have the lay of the land. She looked around, and saw a set of metal steps leading up to the catwalk ringing the room. She veered and took it two at a time. Big windows overlooked the lot. Liby rubbed the grime away from one of the panes and peered out. She saw men crouching behind red barrels, crates, and the van. She turned around and surveyed the factory floor; it stood empty.

"Watch the stairs," she commanded, and Lacy instantly obeyed, turning and dropping to one knee, the barrel of the Desert Eagle pointing down the passage. Her sister had brought her this far, and Lacy was not going to start doubting her now.

At the window, Liby stared down into the yard. Three men were approaching the building, hunched over and moving slowly, cautiously, while the others - a dozen in all - covered them. She chuckled to herself. Wow, these guys are dumb. Whoever Montoya had hiring people was a real boob.

She was almost going to feel bad about this.

Almost.

Drawing the rifle back, she smashed the stock into one of the panes, then stuck the barrel out. The three stooges scattered; Liby opened up, bullets striking the ground and kicking up clouds of dust. One hit a guy in the leg and he dropped with a sissified shriek. She plugged a second in the side and he went down hard. The third she caught in the head; a fine mist of blood sprayed out and he pitched to one side.

The guys behind the barrels returned fire; bullets whizzed through the air and bit into brick. Liby didn't flinch, didn't falter. Instead, she rolled her eyes. You never take shelter behind a red barrel. Don't they teach this stuff in goon school? She lifted the rifle, lined up her shot, and fired: The barrels exploded in a ball of fire that made the world tremble, as though Cthulhu had turned in his sleep. The chain link fence surrounding the lot crashed down, and bits of rock, earth, and flaming body parts showered the ground.

She aimed next at the van and unleashed a torrent of steel; bullets pinged off the side, shattered the windshield, and popped the tires. One of the goons broke from cover and tried to flee, but Liby mowed him down; she was panting now, grinning madly, her eyes filled with unholy light. She was a shark, and, sister, she had the scent of blood. She hit the front end with a steam, and it exploded, flames leaping from the engine block and dancing wickedly into the air. She raked back and forth, back and forth, laughing now; a round struck the gas tank, and the van literally jumped into the air with the force of the resulting explosion. Lacy came up and stood next to her, her eyes wide and her jaw slack. "Wow," she breathed.

Her voice brought Liby back, and she shook her head. "Let's go," she said and went down the stairs. Outside, the crackle of flames and the oily tang of black smoke clogged the day. Liby came to a stop and looked around. "Where's that bastard Montoya?" she asked.

As if in answer, the flat whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades sounded to her left. She and Liby turned just as the chopper lifted off from the roof. Liby raised the rifle and aimed.

Click-click-click.

Shit!

The hatchway on the side of the chopper slid open. Liby saw the .50 cal and her heart dropped. "Get down!" she screamed, and speared Lacy out of the way just as the gunner opened up. Lacy lay face down in the dirt, trembling an crying; Liby sheidled her with her body, pressing her face into her soft, fragrant hair. The fire stopped, and the chopper soared away, its nose angled down. Liby jumped to her feet just and watched it disappear over the top of a building, her fists and teeth clenching in impotent rage.

"THIS ISN'T OVER!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the world. "ONE DAY I'LL GET YOU, MONTOYA!"

The drone of the blades faded, and she and Lacy were alone. Still shaking, she turned to her sister; the younger girl sat in the dirt, her face white and streaked with dirt. Tracks revealed where her tears had fallen. Liby held out her hand, and Lacy stared at her. Then she smiled and took it. "That was so fucking cool!" Lacy prattled as Liby pulled her to her feet. "You're like an action hero!"

Liby cast a frustrated look over her shoulder. "Yeah," she said sullenly, "an action hero who lost. He got away."

"Still! You were amazing!"

Liby blushed. "I was just doing my job. Let's go home."

They walked side-by-side, Lacy going on and on at first but falling silent when the adrenaline filtered from her system and the gravity of what had just happened sank in. Liby had seen this a thousand times before: At first they're numb in a way, then they start to feel. She felt it too now, sort of a quivering deep in the pit of her stomach. By the time they reached the house and sat together on the top porch step, twilight was lengthening to full dark and the streetlamps up and down Franklin were winking on. Lacy stared down at her feet and Liby gazed off into the distance; somewhere, Ricardo Montoya was laughing at her.

And plotting.

"You were really cool back there," Lacy said. Her voice was sober and heavy. "I mean...you knew just what to do and you were...I dunno. So brave and confident. I-I wish I could be like that."

What Lacy said back in the dungeon about her mother being disappointed in her and about not being good enough came back to Liby, and she turned her body to face her sister. She took one of her hand in both of hers. "You are brave, Lace," she said. "You were amazing back there yourself. I'm impressed. You took to it like a duck to water."

Lacy looked up at her, and their gazes locked; Liby never noticed how beautiful, how deep and enchanting, her sister's eyes were - green with hints of gold and brown.

Something stirred in her chest, and she could see Lacy feeling the same.

They leaned in slowly, their heads tilting and their lips grazing. For a moment they stared into one another's eyes, then they kissed, deeply, exploritorily.

Liby's hand went to Lacy's cheek as the kiss deepened, and Lacy threaded her fingers through Liby's hair. Their tounges worked hungrilly, their lips making wet squelching noises as they reveled in being alive.

Shortly, they moved into the house...upstairs...into Liby's bed. By the time they were done, neither was in love with Lemy anymore.

* * *

Lemy sat at the table with a shit eating grin on his face, a fork in one fist and a butter knife in the other. Across the table, Liby and Lacy stared into each other's eyes and giggled like schoolgirls (which, to be fair, they were), and Dad watched them with one raised eyebrow. Lemy wasn't paying attention to them, though; he was focused on Leia, who sat next to Dad with her elbows propped on the edge of the table. She held her fork to her lips and licked the tines suggestively, slowly; she looked him dead ass in the eyes as she did it, too.

"So," Dad asked as he buttered a dinner roll, "anything interesting happen today?

"Um, no," Leia said, "I was really disappointed today. Twice." She smirked brattily at Lemy.

Dad hummed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Lemy? Anything?"

Lemy snorted. "Nope," he said, "just threw a hotdog down a hallway...twice."

Leia's eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Fuck you," she mouthed.

"Maybe later," he mouthed back.

She flipped him off.

He waved his hand and dug in. As he ate, he stole surreptitious glances at Lyra, and every time he did, his heart twinged with something.

Something like love.


End file.
